Against The Clock
by OutCold
Summary: Oneshot collection set in the universe of the TIME SERIES. Everything up to Time Out. NOT in chronological order. Complete.
1. Little Flower: Lisa D and Tony D

_Disclaimer: Don't own it. 'Nough said._

_A/N: This was, once more, not in fact written by me, but by my controlling (and yes, I suppose, helpful and talented) friend, Hannah (YouGottaSingAlong) who has written more things for other people than herself, but you should definitely check out the stuff she's written for herself. No, I still haven't bought her a chocolate bar, and yes, I will get round to it._

_A/N2: This is the story of how Tony met and married his wife. Enjoy._

* * *

Fabian staggered into the emergency room, his boss leaning heavily on him.

"Gudek, how are you faring?"

"I have a bullet in my ass, _Fab_, what do you think?"

A surgeon walked over to them, "Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony gritted his teeth. "That's me."

"Jestem twoja chirurg, Lekarz Lisa Kwiatkowski, Agent DiNo-"

Tony thought about it quickly, -_ I'm your surgeon, Doctor Lisa Kwiatkowski-_ as he looked at her up and down.

"Proszę, zaproszenie mnie Tony." Tony smiled, charmingly.

*

Lisa was preparing Tony for surgery, answering any questions he had about procedure.

"So, are _you _plunging a knife into my butt?"

"Yes, you could put it that way Ton-ee."

"And is anyone else sticking a knife into my butt?"

Tony was really beginning to try her patience. "Any questions that don't include ass, butt or bottom."

"Will you go out with me?" As Tony smiled his face creased, yet he still looked like a ten year old boy. Lisa smiled back, resigned, she liked this man. He was sweet in his own slightly odd way.

"I might be married," she jibed.

"But you're not."

"I've got an evening off on Saturday. Do you know the Wiewiorka?"

"Yeah." Everyone within a twenty mile proximity knew the Squirrel, it was the best restaurant in town.

"Pick me up here at seven-thirty."

*

Tony dug into his steak. So far his evening had been good... fantastic. Lisa was smart, and beautiful. But something was ringing bells in his subconscious.

Lisa looked at him with concern. "Ton-ee, that must be the first time you've stopped eating all night! Is the wołowa not right?"

"No, no. The steak's fine, delicious." He looked at her with sudden horror. Surgeon, doctor. Dark hair, falling just below her shoulders. Funny, beautiful. And almost identical to Jeanne. "Sorry J-Lisa. I'm sorry. I've gotta go." He called a waiter and put 300 Polish złoty into his hand. "That should cover anything you want, Lisa. And keep the change, Chłopiec."

With that Tony sprung to his feet and rushed out of the restaurant.

Lisa stared after him. She needed to get to the bottom of this. Something had bothered him. When he'd looked at her, a memory seemed to have flashed past his eyes. She needed to speak to Fabian.

*

Lisa waited outside Fabian's house. She had been waiting for ten minutes when he arrived.

Fabian Sawiki stepped out of his car, he had been expecting her. After Tony had blurted out, although he had called it admitting, his problem with Lisa, and Jeanne, anyone else might have teased Tony but Fabian allowed him to finish without input before making a quiet comment.

"_Gudek, I think that it was a long time ago, and that if Lisa reminds you of Jeanne, that is fine. Because you like her. And she likes you. And it does not matter if she reminds you of Miss Benoit or Miss David, or Miss Todd or any woman you have admired before because she is not them."_

He greeted her in English. "Doctor. Can I assist you?"

Lisa had thought about how to phrase this. Unfortunately, she now had to translate it into English. It came out slightly blunter than she had meant.

"I want to know about, Ton-ee."

Fabian sighed and invited her into his house.

*

_A year and a half later...._

_Rome, Italy_

"Do you Lisa Kwiatkowski; take Anthony DiNozzo to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Lisa smiled. "I do."

"And do you Anthony DiNozzo; take Lisa Kwiatkowski to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Tony grinned inanely, as he saw Abby clap her hands together in anticipation, and her own husband, Simon grab her hands, pressing them firmly together, before winking at Tony.

"I do."

Fabian smiled broadly as he began. "Then I prono-"

Tony put up his hand. "Fabian, now is not the moment to smile. Couldn't you smile tomorrow, or any other time where the tenth of September will be remembered as _my_, and my wife's, wedding day, not the day Fabian Sawiki finally grins."

Fabian wiped the smile off his face, turning into a, slightly more cheerful than usual, stone mask. "Better, Anthony?"

Lisa groaned, "Get on with it, gentlemen."

"I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Simon released Abby's hands.

*

"Tony, I think I should take your name," Lisa shoveled a spoonful of muesli into her mouth.

"I thought you didn't want to."

"I didn't until your friends started calling me, Kwi-ang-oink-see."

"Are you sure?"

Lisa looked at her husband.

"Okay, you're sure."

* * *

_Pretty pretty please review._


	2. He Looks Like: Felicity G and Gibbs

_Disclaimer: I own a new desk, which my laptop is sitting on right now._

_A/N: Yes, I know there's two people named variations of Jamie – well, it happens in real life, doesn't it?_

_A/N2: This is the meeting-marriage of Gibbs and Felicity, and this time Hannah only wrote part of it – it was actually MAINLY me. Imaginary cyber prize to whoever can guess where it changed author._

* * *

Felicity Gordon grabbed her leather shoulder bag, desperate to leave the shopping centre despite her eldest daughter's best efforts to restrain her. "I do _not_ need fancy clothes. The invite said smart-_casual_, not lace gloves." As her daughter opened her mouth, Felicity moved off.

Her daughter jogged off after her. "Mum, You know, you should re-marry. In fact this party is the perfect opportune-"

"Lee, you sound like _my_ mother. And I was twenty back then."

"No. I sound like _my _mother. And that was two years ago."

"Who's paying for your college?"

"I love you, Mum." Lee's tone quickly changed.

Felicity smiled. "I know."

-----

Despite claims to her daughters of complete indifference, Felicity stood in front of a full length mirror in her bedroom for one hour and twenty three minutes, according to her watch, trying to choose between two outfits, one she believed too formal, one too casual. Why was nothing ever easy?

-----

A man with chestnut hair, slicked into a 1930s side parting, and a flamboyant black and silver suit stood outside the large clubhouse of the Washington Prime Marina. He dashed over to Felicity's car as he saw her drive up flinging open the door, and, as she stepped, out kissing her enthusiastically on each cheek. His Eton nurtured English accent rang out like an over excited foghorn in her ear.

"Darling! It's been months, how are you? And Lee and Jamye? You must tell me _everything_. Have you met anyone-?"

They entered a beautiful art deco room, full of people, food, laughter and music. "-Of course, really that's not a problem. There are so many men here. I tried my best to get them here in their uniforms, but you know what officers are like."

"Uniforms?" Felicity raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, darling, I know hundreds, simply hundreds of officers. And some of them are ex-officers but... Oh, I swear I'll speak to you later, I simply must go greet Ally-"

As he walked off, Felicity called out after him. "Pat, it's been two weeks."

He flicked her off, jokingly, with one hand. She laughed and turned around to face the room, trying to spot someone she might know. However, as her eyes scoured the chattering clusters of people, mainly near the bar and food stands, one man caught her eye. He stood at the back of the room, neglecting the full glass of wine that he held in his hand, as he watched the crowd with a critical eye. She met his stony gaze and returned it; she'd had enough trouble in her life to handle a grumpy old man in a corner. She was here to have fun. Fun. Yes, find someone to talk to.

Twenty minutes later, Felicity had completely forgotten about the man in the corner, and had joined in the dancing. A completely out of breath Patrick joined her at the end of her last dance.

"City, I am com-pel-etely puffed out. Dancing does me in."

"I've run out of men who don't have sweaty palms."

"Hmmm, there are a couple with that problem aren't there? Ooh, what about LJ?"

"Who?"

"LJ. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Grey haired, Marine cut, guy in the corner."

"The Darcy?"

"The very same, and guess what?" He grabbed her shoulders and turned her.

"No! No, no"

"Yes! You have the pleasure of forcing him to socialise."

"He looks like a bastard."

"He_ is_ a bastard. Have fun." Felicity groaned as she was propelled forward towards Gibbs by her over-excitable host. "Oh, and tell him if he doesn't bring Thom E. Gemcity to the next party, I will personally kill him."

"I'm only here as a favour to Pat," she announced as she appeared by Gibbs' side.

The side of his mouth twitched upwards and his eyebrows rose. A few seconds passed and a new song began. He extended his hand in front of her with a soft smirk playing on his lips and his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"I'll take advantage of that then. Would you like to dance?"

Felicity took his hand hesitantly, it was dry. She inclined her head and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. She just hoped he could tango.

Gibbs looked down at her chestnut hair. "Felicity, isn't it?"

"Felicity Gordon."

"Can you tango?" A soft smirk played on her lips and her eyes twinkled mischievously. Beside them Patrick leant over to his partner, and muttered in his ear, "And so the romance blossoms."

His partner grinned uncertainly.

------

The Lumber Company (Timber And Logs) deskman, Mike, picked up the phone, and grabbed a notepad upon hearing a familiar voice. Nodding he noted down the quantities, lengths and double-checked the delivery address. He was sure that the Company was on that man's speed dial by now. He'd heard rumours, the good, the bad and the insane of what happened to the wood when it reached the customer's house. Putting down the phone he began hollering instructions over his shoulder.

----

_What am I doing here?_ This was, Felicity mused, was a question she had asked herself rather a lot. In most cases, she had been talking of where she was in her life – during her divorces and her pregnancies, or working shitty jobs. This time, though, it applied literally, as in, _what on earth possessed me to decide to walk to the house of a man I met at a party two weeks ago, without even giving any warning that I would be visiting?_ She'd been having a bad day at work, _bloody producers_, and for some reason had remembered the address of the mysterious Darcy that Pat had rather obviously attempted to partner her with.

"_Felicity Alice, it's been what – a week? He wasn't that horrible, was he? And he matched your dancing. Here's the man's address and phone number."_

"_Fairly sure that he gave you those in confidence, Pat."_

She knocked on the door loudly, and waited. There was no response. After about five minutes, she gently pushed the door, and it fell open.

"Hello?"

She followed soft sawing sounds to a plain wooden door. Something about it made Felicity pause, so she tapped it gently.

"Come down."

She recognised his voice instantly, and opened the door, seeing that it led to a dimly lit basement. The space in the middle of the floor had some wooden beams across it, and the border of the room was filled with cluttered workbenches and tables. A small, old TV played the news quietly in the corner, and the familiar shape of LJ Gibbs was bent over a table, studiously sawing at a log. His hand warily held a gun, which he set down.

"If I were going to hurt you, would I have knocked?" she asked scathingly.

He smirked.

"Maybe not, but most people don't."

"How many people come down here?" she asked, truly curious.

"Not many. And usually only when they have a problem."

"What are you, an agony aunt?"

He chuckled gently.

"Only when I need to be. What can I do for you, Miss Gordon?"

"You got alcohol?"

"Bourbon."

"Well that'd be a start."

He gestured to another table.

"You can trek up to the kitchen and get a glass, or empty out a jar."

"I thought you were a gentleman."

"I only put on that act for parties. Actually, only for Rick's parties."

"I understand why," she said, as she emptied a relatively innocuous looking jar of paintbrushes. "You're not very good at it," she continued as she poured from the dusty bottle. "You didn't call."

He looked surprised.

"You didn't give me your number."

She shuddered at the first sip, like she always did with bourbon. Still, nothing was better after a horrible day.

"Don't give me that, LJ. I didn't give you my number – Pat did."

He laughed, walking over to her and gently removing her hand from where it still rested on the bottle to top up his mug.

"Please, just call me Gibbs. If you could get Rick to do the same, that would be great," he leant back on the table next to where she was perched and brought his mug to his mouth. She noticed he took time to enjoy the drink – his aim wasn't to get blindly drunk. "You didn't call either."

"I'm here." She really shouldn't have said that. Now he would ask why, and _I don't know_, would sound stupid, not to mention like it had come out of a cheesy romcom.

"You are," he agreed and she looked up in surprise. "How are you with woodwork?"

"Not bad, not good."

"You mind sawing where I've made marks with pencil?"

There was a challenge in his voice and there was no way she would back down. She strode over to where he had stood, throwing a playfully competitive look back over her shoulder. He smiled mockingly in response, before following and taking a new log to start on while she finished his old. The rhythmic noise of sawing continued uninterrupted by conversation for maybe an hour. Felicity noticed blisters beginning to appear on her hands.

"I should get back to my daughters. Thank you for . . . whatever the hell it was you just did that made me feel better."

He grinned.

"Nah, that was just the bourbon. Thank you for helping me."

"I won."

"You can win at sawing?" he teased, his eyebrows shooting up. She was about to reply, but he cut in. "You didn't anyway, I started your first cut for you."

"Excuses, excuses," she laughed, picking up her coat and beginning to ascend the stairs. "Call."

She was out the door by this point, and Gibbs wondered if he had imagined that final order. He chose to believe that he hadn't.

----

The next morning was a Saturday, and Gibbs entered NCIS at six. Leon Vance discovered him at work at half six, and under threat of armed escort, he left the building at seven. At ten, he was in his living room, proverbially twiddling his thumbs. He reached for the phone.

----

"Mum! Phone's ringing!" Jayme called, before going back to helping Lee study (loudly asking questions from her books and refusing to give her chocolate when she got it wrong).

"Let it," said Felicity, poking her head around from the kitchen, before mumbling to herself, "Bloody cleaning the house and bloody daughters yelling, bloody phone ringing, twenty bloody things to do at once . . ."

It went to answer phone.

"This is Gibbs. I was wondering if I am the only person in the world who has nothing to do on Saturdays and whether you'd like to make Rick's day by nipping over to the marina and hiring out a boat, because I am willing to bet that not only am I far superior at woodwork, I could kick your ass at sailing too. Just an offer, give me a ring."

Felicity predicted with frightening accuracy what Lee was about to do, and ran into the living room to find the phone on speaker and her daughters mouthing "Talk!" at her. She rolled her eyes.

"You sure know how do charm a girl, Gibbs."

"You picked up."

"Actually Lee, my eldest, put you on speaker."

"Really?" he sounded amused. "Thank you very much, Lee."

"No problem."

"Tell me – is your mum busy today?"

"Yes," said Felicity, as both her daughters screamed – "NO!"

"I have a lot of chores to do, Gibbs," she explained.

"We'll handle it," said Jayme. "Kitchen, bathroom and living room. Easy."

"We'll tidy our bedrooms too," offered Lee.

"Sorry, Gibbs, not today."

"Your daughters are offering to do housework and you're refusing?" he asked incredulously, and she could here the laugh in his voice.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

"Just Gibbs. This is Jamye, right?"

"Yeah. We will physically restrain her if necessary. Get over here NOW."

"On my way."

----

They pulled in at the marina with barely a word having been exchanged. Neither moved to get out of the car.

"You would have picked up," Gibbs said with certainty, "you can't resist a competition."

Honestly, she knew he was right. Also, he was fun to compete with.

"Arrogant bastard."

He grinned cheekily, tilting his head to one side.

"Believe it or not, I've heard that one before," with that he swung out of the car and in a flash was at her side, opening the door for her.

"So it's not just Pat's _parties_ that you're gentlemanly for. Should I be worried about something?"

"Too sparkly for me. _Would_ you be worried?"

She realised she'd been caught out, and pouted. Gibbs thought it was cute. He didn't have long to dwell on the thought.

"Well, I have to say, it took you long enough, didn't it? It is simply won-der-ful to see you, especially together. You were just hiding this to worry me, weren't you? Well, never mind, that's all history – romantic cruise? I'm _certain_ I have a suitable boat free. If I don't, well, I'll kick someone off one."

As Patrick continued to fuss, Gibbs turned to Felicity and grimaced jokingly.

"Actually, Pat," she interrupted, "we were thinking a couple of speedy sailboats."

His face fell, then raised again.

"I swear, you two do not have a romantic _bone_ in your bodies. Not even one between the both of you. A boat race it is, but I will get you on that cruise if it's the last thing I do."

----

Graham and Beth McLeod had lived in the house beside Mr. Gibbs for seven years. During that time, he had been perfectly civil, but no-one could call the man friendly. Occasionally there would be a woman, or people from his work, but mainly he kept to himself. The children on the street made up scary stories about what happened in the man's basement, and even the most self respecting adults indulged in rumours.

" . . . three wives . . . redheads, all of them . . . "

" . . . I heard four . . . "

" . . . new girlfriend . . ."

" . . . she's his boss . . . "

" . . . boss wouldn't visit that much . . ."

" . . . . heard . . . fire . . . dead . . . "

" . . obsessed with boats . . . "

" . . . gun . . . door open . . ."

" . . . dark haired woman . . ."

As far as Graham and Beth were concerned, he was a perfectly pleasant fellow, and if he was slightly eccentric or strange, so be it.

" . . . retired . . . time . . . work's his life . . . "

A few months after his retirement, Graham was making breakfast for Beth's birthday, when they heard an explosion from the Gibbs house. He rushed outside, shortly followed by Beth, wrapping a dressing gown around herself. As they stood, looking for something wrong. A couple more people appeared, but the McLeod house was closest. A boy turned to his younger brother and began to tell another story. Mr. Gibbs exited the house shortly, and stared at the McLeods. He raised an eyebrow slowly, and the corner of his mouth lifted. Graham turned to his wife and remarked,

"There's another one from the rumour mill."

She nodded, and they returned to their house. The McLeods believed in not being nosy. Then the explosions began at night, for three nights straight. Increasingly concerned, but refusing to make a big deal out of it, they bought earplugs. The next morning, Beth peered out the window and called her husband. A trailer was attached to the back of Mr. Gibbs' car, and a boat sat on it, "_Felicity_" painted in gold on the side. He looked up at their window, and gave a rare smile. They smiled back. Hopefully the explosions would end now.

----

"Rick – do you have a space in the harbour?"

His voice, distorted through the phone, replied,

"Why would you need that?"

"For a boat," Gibbs sighed in exasperation.

"One made it out?!?!"

"Yes."

"What's her name?"

No answer.

"I'm going to see anyway."

"Felicity."

Gibbs held the phone away from his ear. He still heard the squeal.

"If I don't have a space – I'll make one. Come right away."

----

The next day Gibbs entered the marina alone, Patrick insisting that – "LJ, dear, I'll handle 'City."

He arrived at his boat to find her standing next to Patrick with a bright satin scarf, _how Rick_, tied around her eyes.

"A blindfold, Rick, that's not overkill?"

"Exactly, Jethro," interrupted Felicity. "Get this bloody thing off."

"With pleasure."

He untied it with a flourish. Her mouth fell open.

"The Felicity?"

"Not overkill?"

She wheeled around to face him and kissed him softly.

"Not at all. When did you start this?"

He looked embarrassed, although if you didn't know him you wouldn't have been able to tell. Patrick cut in.

"He ordered the wood _on the night he met you_, darling! I can't believe I ever said he was unromantic. Now you finally get that cruise! Go!"

Gibbs jumped down onto the hull and offered her his hand, which she took even though she leapt down without using it for support. A while into their journey, Gibbs brought the boat to a stop, fishing in his pocket for a small wooden box, intricately carved. He pulled Felicity to her feet.

"I'm not going down on one knee for three reasons – I only did that for one woman and it seems wrong – cheap – to do it again, we're on a boat and it would be stupid," she shook her head in disbelief, "and most importantly, you'd laugh at me, which isn't exactly the effect I'm going for. What I will do is say this – I may not believe in love at first sight, but I knew from the manner you introduced yourself, from the way you danced, that there was something special about you. And I'll admit that I was nervous to call, so I'm really glad that you came to me. I've been through some horrible things, all of which you know of, and some from which I may never completely heal. I can be difficult, I know that and I'm known for being a bastard. But I can ignore my pain when I'm with you – you make me truly happy, Felicity, and that's really saying something. I love every minute we've spent together, I love your daughters, I love _you_ and I want to try my best to make you as happy as you make me. So, Felicity Alice Gordon, will you marry me?"

He opened the box to reveal a simple gold band with one diamond in the middle and a small sapphire on either side of it. She looked shocked, but managed to say,

"'Course I will."

He placed the ring on her finger and she leant up to kiss him.

"Also – could you never mention I said that stuff to anyone?"

She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and placed her hands on his shoulders, placing her mouth a millimetre away from his ear.

"Not a chance in hell."

----

"Will you be my Bride's man?" Felicity cringed as Patrick turned with his arms open wide and a grin plastered across his face.

"Felicity Alice Gordon, nothing would delight me more than to be your Bride's maid . . . man."

"So that's a yes?"

"Completely unconditionally yes, it's a yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, it is such a colossal yes, that-"

"Partick William Kennard, shut up."

----

The wedding was a small affair. They held it at the marina, and Patrick summarised it as – "short service, long party". He, Felicity and Gibbs were at a table.

"LJ – could you be a dear and go fetch me an empty glass and a knife or something, while I attempt to remember what I was going to say in my speech?"

Gibbs chuckled and walked away. Felicity stared after him admiringly, then turned to Patrick to find him doing the same thing. He whistled softly.

"Darling, I am _so_ jealous."

"Patrick William, would you stop lusting after my husband?!"

"Honey – he's your third, doesn't it get old?"

"Obviously not."

Gibbs returned and Patrick tapped the knife against the glass, drawing everyone's attention.

"Well, I would just like everyone to know that _I_ got these two together and you can all thank me later, because it makes them decidedly more fun. I have known both our blushing bride and our grumpy groom for many _many_ years now, and I love them both dearly, but we all know their track record with relationships. So, without any further ado, to Felicity and LJ Gibbs, may they have a happy marriage, a fun honeymoon and an amiable divorce!"

Everyone laughed. Raising their glasses, the newlyweds turned to one another and rolled their eyes.

* * *

_I worked very hard on this. Please review. Tell me if I was OOC on Gibbs, I think I might have been._


	3. Know Each Other: McGee's Team

_Written by my wonderful (if slightly annoying) friend, Hannah (penname – YouGottaSingAlong). Check out her stuff._

_Disclaimer: I own no TV shows, 'cause life's not fair._

* * *

Tony was leaving. He was taking Gibbs' advice, he was bored and he was in desperate need of a drastic change of scene. At his request, Vance had searched for a spot on a different NCIS base, outside DC, the vacancy he had found was on the short-staffed new NCIS Gdynia, Poland base. He was to begin with only one team member, partner, he supposed, a Fabian Sawiki, who had formerly worked on the Polish Anti-Terror Taskforce, was to be his senior field agent.

Vance clapped him on the back. "It's been difficult, but I think I might have decided on your replacement." He nodded twice. "Go on, tell him. And good luck, DiNozzo. Be nice to Sawiki and don't let him intimidate you."

Tony smiled and slipped one of his handguns out of its holster. "Probie. McHoncho!"

McGee turned, Tony threw the gun then a quarter empty clip to him. "Franks gave that to Gibbs, Gibbs gave it to me, and I'm giving it to you. Good luck, Tim."

McGee looked stunned. "I'm- I'm getting my own team- I- Good luck, Tony." The two men briefly embraced before Tony whipped on a cap reading, "NCIS: _Gudek_". Touching the peak, he theatrically bowed as the lift doors began to close.

He nodded swiftly to Lucas who stood beside McGee. "Lukey-boy."

"Lil 'Ozzo." Lucas saluted him and the door pinged signalling Tony's departure.

McGee fitted the clip into the gun and placed the holster against his hip. It was finally done. Whittled down to him; Kate, died so many years ago, Ziva, called back to Israel, many thought her dead as she had not contacted America since her departure, Gibbs, retired, happy, with a new boat out on the water, even Ducky had finally retired following his mother's death, re-married to an equally mad archaeologist, and even Abby was distant, with a kid, a second on the way soon, avoided by most people due to her exceptionally frequent mood swings and caffeine deprivation.

Jimmy, who had been up saying his goodbyes to Tony sidled off alongside Vance, leaving only Lucas and McGee with two empty desks by them. Gibbs' that had never been filled and Tony's that had not yet been filled. Lucas grinned wanly at McGee. "I'll tell you, Tim... Boss, even... campfire will be _really _small."

A clear British accent rang out behind them. "So, you'll be needin' an extra body?"

McGee and Lucas spun round on their chairs, a tall dark haired woman stood with a black rucksack slung over one shoulder. She wore her hair tied back; her clothing choice was practical, a white shirt, grey combat trousers and green Converse. Her eyes were brown and her eyebrows were completely straight. "Agent Tash Pauls. SIS, British Intelligence. I've been sent over as a liaison. I was assigned to Special Agent Timothy McGee's team by Director Vance?"

McGee stood up taking her outstretched hand. "That's, um, me."

Lucas raised a finger. "Lucas Logan."

McGee's phone rang as Tash emptied the contents of her bag messily over Gibbs' old desk. "... yes, okay." He put the phone down, his eyebrows raised slightly as he said, "Grab your gear, we've got a case."

Lucas beamed, "On it, T- Boss."

----

Jamey Mulgrew ran up the stairs on her first day at NCIS, the lift was for some reason stopped between floors. She did _not_ want to be late; she was on as a probationary Special Agent with McGee's team. She was met on the stairs by a man in his late thirties. He had a string of wooden beads round his neck, a striped tie worn squint and loose, matched his face, straightforward, easy, slightly squint and 100% mischievous. He smiled widely as he put an arm out in front of her preventing her passage up the stairs.

"Hey, hey, what's the rush?" He spoke with an odd mixture of a cockney and New York accent. "Are you new? I haven't seen you around before."

"It's my first day."

"Ah, what department... or is it a team?"

"Um," Although she knew, Jamey felt a need to check her papers. "Special Agent McGee's."

If possible, the man's grin widened further, he turned to face the same direction as she was headed. "Maybe I should give you some pointers."

-----

Jamey was sheet white when they reached the bullpen.

"... but he's alright really." Lucas concluded brightly.

Jamey's eyes were wide. "Are the rules written down... anywhere?"

"Nope." Lucas answered. "Boss! Tash! Hey, Doc?!" Jimmy raised a hand in greeting. "Um, this is Jamey Mulgrew. She's joining our team."

Jimmy nodded. "Seems like the Director's got us all Newbie's. My assistant William Chang is due to arrive any minute."

A voice issued from the entrance. "Doctor Palmer?"

Jamey turned in delight. "Bill!"

"Jay?!"

Lucas groaned, "Oh God, does the whole planet know each other?"

* * *

_I live for reviews. Fairly sure Hannah does too. _


	4. Ich Muss Mal Pinkeln: Kathy P and Poland

_Once more written by Hannah. The characters are, I'll admit, as much hers as mine after all._

_Disclaimer: I have a new watch._

* * *

Kathy Paris grabbed the box full of her gear from her boss' desk, and as she lifted it, carefully swept it across a pile of documents causing them to scatter and float across the room. As he scowled, Kathy responded with her brightest grin.

"You know what, sir. I think I'll have a completely fresh start." She turned the box upside-down, the contents spilled out over his lap, and a cheap snow globe burst over his $600 Armani suit. "You shouldn't frown so, Sammy. You'll give yourself wrinkles."

As she grabbed her own pack from her empty desk, Kathy's face fell. She said her goodbyes to the few colleagues she actually liked. Cameron, the only other girl who had been on her team hugged her as Kathy muttered in her ear, "Watch out for the sexist pig."

Her friend nodded nervously. Kathy had always stood up to the boss, but she was leaving Los Angeles. NCIS wouldn't be the same.

------

Kathy sat on the plane, on her way to a Fresh Start. She stretched out on her business class seat, wide awake, she considered what she was doing and sincerely hoping it was the right choice. Cutting off all ties in the United States, she had spent seven months learning Polish so she could apply for this job, and putting up with an ass of a boss and fourteen failed sexual harassment suits against him, all to escape the _most_ boring pointless life. Chances were Poland wouldn't be that much better, but at least her new boss, Anthony DiNozzo had a good reputation since transferring to Poland, and he was a transfer from America, something at least that she had in common with him. She was to join the seriously understaffed Gdynia branch of NCIS, the third member of a team that had been together since before she had even begun university.

She was scared shitless.

The nearest person to her smiled cheerily, enquiring after her health, Kathy suspected she had gone green again. As a distraction she choose to enter into a conversation with him, he seemed okay, and anyone with a mop of brown hair that was that unruly struck her as worth talking to. Someone had once asked her why. She replied that she had no idea.

They spoke for over half an hour before he asked, "I'm sorry, we've been conducting a very difficult conversation without names. What's yours? If you don't mind my asking?"

"Kathy. You?"

"Isaac."

"Good to meet you Isaac."

"Good to meet you, Kathy." They both laughed, having been speaking for such a length of time, it was nice to have names. "What takes you to Poland? Holiday?"

"Work. I'm transferring from California."

"Ah, I'm just over… what do you say…. Checking the joint."

"Casing the joint." He didn't look like a businessman. "What do you work as?"

"I'm a secret agent on a highly covert mission," he dropped his voice low before laughing. "I'm an estate agent."

"Fun."

"Not really." He changed the subject again. "Long way to come on a transfer, isn't it?"

"I had a… difference of opinion at work."

"But, em, you don't have family or anything?" He looked almost wistful for a second, but it passed as quickly as it came.

"Not really… I mean I have parents and they're alive and well, but they have webcam so they'll be happy enough. And I just had a breakup."

"Ah."

"Ah's the word." They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a couple of minutes. "She worked too hard and we never saw each other. So it just kinda, fell apart. Loudly."

"Lou-? Oh, you argued."

"Yep. Are you Israeli? Or something..."

Isaac started at the sudden question, Most people would talk about themselves for hours when you got them started. "Yes- yes, I am."

His tone was down and Kathy aw an end to their conversation closing in. "So, what movies do you like? Books?"

------

Kathy wandered through the Arrivals area, an NCIS driver was meant to be picking her up but she couldn't see anyone who looked like they were NCIS. However, she was promptly tapped on the shoulder by a tall Polish man who asked, ""Paris?"

"Kathy, yes. Kathy Paris. Are you the NCIS guy to pick me up?"

"I'm your senior field agent, yes."

"Shit, sorry."

"It's fine. Come."

They pulled up in the car park outside the, still clean and new looking, despite being five years old, US Naval and CIS base. A man with short brown hair, greying at the temples, jumped in beside Kathy, passing her and the man in the front a weapon.

"Fab, we've got a case. Gdansk, Aleja Wincentego Witasa."

"Gudek, do you mean Witosa or Witasa?"

"Witosa, witasa, what's the difference?"

"They're on opposite ends of town."

"Witasa."

He turned to Kathy, holding out his hand to her. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I'm your supervisory agent."

"Special Agent Kathy Paris, I transferred from LA. I was wondering...?" She pointed at Fabian.

"What- oh, Fab, you didn't introduce yourself? Kathy, that statue up front is Fabian Sawiki."

Kathy smiled. "Good to meet you both."

Tony wound down his window hot air blasted in. Kathy choked as dust flew into her mouth. "Boss, sir... Boss, shut the, kchrogh, , window." She continued making unpleasant choking noises.

Tony, apologising did so before handing her water and saying, "I'm the Gudek, by the way."

"Gudek, please don't do that again."

"Yes, Ma'am." Tony raised his eyebrows as Fabian flicked down the mirror winking slyly at Tony. "Actually Fab, I think I meant Witosa."

"Ich muss mal pinkeln, and we're _late._"

Tony turned to Kathy. "Do you know what he said?"

"No."

"Me neither."

* * *

_Please review. And vote on my poll. Please._


	5. My Father Doesn't Bite: Jed K and Lisa D

_A/N: Jed and Ani belong to Hannah (I'm sure I don't have to go over who she is), Lisa belongs to me and her, Alek and Lizzie belong to me, Tony...well, I don't want to go into that._

_A/N2: I'll simplify this for you, all the illness related bits are me, the rest is the rightful author of this fic. You all know who I'm talking about._

_Disclaimer: Please don't sue me for The Catcher In The Rye quote._

* * *

Jedrek Kwiatkowski sat outside his wife's hospital room, head in hands. He didn't know what was going on. Only that he had been ushered out when a monotone bleep came from a machine near his wife's bed. He had not yet been told if it was his child or his wife, but he knew one had gone, he could hear people's footsteps moving as softly as possible past him. Finally he heard a voice he recognised at the reception, Jasia's best friend, Ania.

"Ani? Is that you?"

"Jed, I am so sorry. I'm sorry."

"Ani. No one's told me what's happened." He felt her hand grip his tightly.

"Jasia died. I told them they were to stop treating you like a blind man and give you your daughter." Ani laughed chokingly. "She's fine."

The doctor who had been in charge of the maternity ward that night, walked over with the child in his arms.

Jedrek took his tiny daughter in his arms and felt her face. He leant down to her and whispered in her ear, "Kocham Cię, Kwiatkowski. Lisa. I love you, Lisa."

-----

The five year old girl charged through the house and barrelled into her father. "The dogman's here, the dogman's here."

"Mów wolniej. No one knows what you're saying except me when you do that. Let's go see the dogman."

Jedrek had promised his daughter that they would get a dog after she completed a year at school. It made sense to get a new one, he hated being babysitted or using a cane constantly so they were getting a dog for the Blind. It would cheer Lisa up if necessary and it would help him without being patronising. Perfect.

------

"You have colon cancer, Jed, I'm so sorry."

He heard the catch in the voice of one of his best friends.

"Thank you, Alek," he paused for a second. "Tell me - what's Lisa doing?"

Aleksy looked out the hospital room window and laughed quietly.

"Reading. Of course. You drummed that one into her."

"How bad is it? How do I tell her?"

Alek made a pained noise.

"We're going to treat you with chemotherapy, but we may end up needing to operate to remove the tumor. Do you want me to call her in?"

He grimaced and nodded. Alek left, and motioned Lisa in as he passed. She slammed her book shut and rushed in to his bedside.

"Tata, Tata, what is it? Alek looked so sad . . ."

"Shh, Lisa, shh. It's, eh, cancer. I'm going to need some chemotherapy."

"But you'll be alright?"

-----

Lisa had hated hospitals since she was small, justified by her somewhat simplistic statement of 'people die there'. However, they were growing on her. She liked how everyone had a job to do and knew how to do it, how everything was clean and precise, and all the people were kind, but busy, so they were nice to her but didn't annoy her for too long. In fact, she might have even gone as far as to say she liked hospitals, if it weren't for her father, laying invalid in an adjustable bed, with his hair falling out in tufts as he waited to know if he would survive, and she waited by his side. Seeing the doctors at work was always reassuring. Their efficiency awoke a feeling in her that if anyone could save him, it would be them. But still he got worse. When he had to stay at the hospital full time, Alek looked after her, and Ani from time to time, but she was barely there, preferring to be in the hospital with her father. The doctors and nurses, and even eventually the Chief of Medicine once he found out, waved visiting times for her, so long as she stayed fairly quiet when she was walking about. She also looked after the dog and opened the shop on Saturdays and some afternoons. Many of her friends were scared away, unable to cope with someone who was going through something so horrible, but when Jed asked about it she told him that she only needed the ones who stayed. They were the only ones worth having. And still he got worse. One day the doctors and a woman she hadn't seen before entered the room. She saw the looks on their faces, and left. Alek was outside, about to walk in. She grabbed his arm as they brushed past each other, stopping him for just a second and whispering,

"They have to operate, don't they?"

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. She released his arm and he entered. She waited for them all to come out, and turned to the new woman.

"Are you going to be Tata's surgeon?"

"Yeah," her voice was soft, and sympathetic, with a slight hint of a British accent. "I'm Elizabeth Reynolds - Lizzie, please. You're Lisa?"

"Yeah. Look, is it, will he - how dangerous is it, Dr. Re . . . Lizzie? Why isn't one of the surgeons from the hospital doing it? Are you better?"

"Alek called me, we're friends from some travelling we did together."

Lisa smirked tiredly.

"So you are better. Leaving all bedside manner, Lizzie, and I'm really sorry . . ." she faltered and took a deep breath, "to be so abrupt, but can you save his life?"

"All surgery -"

"Is dangerous, I know. I'm not asking if you will save him, just if you can."

Lizzie swallowed and nodded.

"I can."

-----

Being a logical type of person, Lisa would never have thought it possible that a second could take a minute and a minute an hour. But for five hours that was the agony she endured. None of the usually friendly staff talked to her, sensing that it would do no good, and was potentially hazardous to their health. But eventually her father was wheeled back to his room on a gurney, and Lizzie stopped to talk to Lisa.

"He'll need rest, lots of it, and for quite some time. Don't let him push himself to far, no skipping meals, and make sure he drinks enough. Many patients don't like physiotherapy, but tell him to suck it up," at this point she burst into a grin, "but he's gonna be alright."

-----

Two weeks later, sitting at their dining table again as Lisa forced food down Jed's throat, she said,

"I'm going to be a surgeon, Tata. I want to save people, I want to able to tell people's families that they're going to be alright."

Jed nodded slowly.

"And then you'll inspire them to become surgeons themselves, causing a massive increase in the number of surgeons, improving healthcare across the board, and all thanks to you and Lizzie Reynolds."

"Tata!"

-----

"Don't be nervous, Andros. My father doesn't bite." Lisa led Andros by his hand. "He can be a little odd."

Andros turned from white to a pale green. He clutched his notepad which hung on a string round his neck, he began taking deep breaths. He jumped when the door was thrown open and a tall man with dark glasses stood in front of him.

"You're Andros?"

Lisa took her father's hand and laughed. "Yes, Tata. This is Andros."

Jed felt around for Andros' face which when he reached it was inspected thoroughly. "Sharp chin. High cheekbones. Lisa, couldn't you do better than this. His hair's a little long, don't you think."

"_Tata_!" Lisa dragged her father inside the house, Andros cringed and followed her in uneasily.

-------

Jed opened the door to a policja officer. "Who is it?

"Sierżant Abramczyk, Mr Kwiatkowski."

Jed heard Lisa moving from the living room. "What is it, Sierżant?"

"We would like to speak to your daughter about Andros Adamczyk."

"The troubled young poet?"

"Your daughter was dating him."

"I know. Believe me I met him." Jed growled. "Please come in."

"Thank you." He stepped in. "Is Lisa in?"

Lisa turned on her heels. "What's happened to Andros?"

"He was found dead."

"Coorva. What happened?" Lisa gasped sinking into a chair.

"He was found hanging from a tree, I'm terribly sorry. We need to know the circumstances of his death. We believe its suicide, but we have to ask."

"We haven't argued, or broken up or anything, sir."

"We have to check. Now, um, could you tell us the nature of your relationship with Adamczyk?"

Jed stood up. "I'm leaving now."

--------

Jed gawped at the man before him. "You want _me_ to turn my shop into a chain."

"Nationwide. You're shop is really popular. We want to make it available to everyone."

"I don't know. I don't want it to lose its Bookshop-iness."

"You can oversee everything, the shops don't have to be big, just like this place, but in more places."

"Like this place?"

"Yes." The man nodded. "You'd have a majority share of course."

"Of course. My daughter wants to go to medical school. And I would like to have more money to get her through it..."

"So we have a deal?"

"I'll go over it with my solicitor."

"Excellent." They shook hands.

--------

The owner and majority share owner of _Little Flower Książkowy Sklep: The International Bookstore_ grinned inanely as he heard his daughter's name called out to receive her graduation from medical school. The last two weeks had been spent creating a shortlist of hospitals for Lisa to apply for an internship to, she had narrowed it down to four, on the way home they were posting the applications, then Lisa was going to look at homes in the areas. On her own.

"Tata! You came. I wasn't sure if you could make..."

An overly friendly, sleek black Labrador jumped up on her, "Hey Junior. I'm _so_ sorry, I forgot it's your second birthday today. I'm an awful person."

Jed smiled, "I'm sure he won't mind. If you feed him tonight, he might forgive you."

"Coorva. I completely forgot, I'm a bad sister aren't I..."

Jed laughed and grabbed the dog's lead. "He'll forgive you, and watch your language, or I might change my mind about paying for half this house."

--------

Jedrek raised his eyebrows, "Jesteś głupi, Tony. Napij się herbaty." He ordered as he pressed down on the button to boil the kettle.

"I'm fine, sir, honestly." Lisa scowled at Tony as he gave this meek reply.

"Don't be a fool, Tony. I will make you tea. Then you will tell me what you do, and what you've been up to."

"Up t-"

Lisa kicked him. "Ignore my father, he likes to joke."

"Bu-"

Jed kicked out a chair. "Sit."

Tony skidded down onto it and crossed his legs over. Then he uncrossed them, then crossed the again...

"Ton-ee, my father is blind, he does not see if your legs are crossed or otherwise, you could run around stark naked and he would not know."

Jed entered. "Yes I would." He placed a mug on the table before barking, "_Head_."

Tony looked uncertainly at Lisa who nodded. He leant forward to find his head grabbed and Jed's hands run through his hair and across his face. "Short hair? Yes. You'll do. When's the wedding?"

Tony's face went bright red, while Lisa laughed.

-------

Jed handed Tony a pile of books. "Your wedding present. I expect them finished, with _no _cheating, and believe me, Anthony, I'll know if you cheat, before you return from the honeymoon. And they don't have films. Just books."

Tony took the books in his hands, "Thank you, Jedrek."

Jed laughed as he and Terti, the latest lab, walked off. "He's always so formal, Lisa."

Three nights later, Lisa lay on a king's size bed beside her husband, who, as he had been for the last two nights and most of three days, was sitting with a book, reading. Lisa regretted even allowing her father within two metres of him, he was a jittering nervous wreck after three months of knowing Jed. Ten minutes later, following a brief attempt at engaging him in conversation, Lisa grabbed the book.

"Oi! I've gotta read that.**"**

Lisa opened the book. "' "They're okay." I was being a lousy conversationalist, but I didn't feel like it...'" She began to read.

An hour later she looked down to the side to check on Tony. His chest rose and fell evenly, his eyes flickering open every few seconds, sleeping like a baby.

The next morning, Lisa leant over him and said loudly in his ear, causing him to jump awake. "_Tony, can we have our honeymoon now_?"

"Have I finished the books?"

"Yes. Tata, will be very proud?"

"Oh, good." Tony rolled over and went back to sleep. Lisa began breathing slightly hysterically.

"Lisa DiNozzo is a good person, Lisa DiNozzo is a good person..."

* * *

_Review. Go on. Hit the button. Go on . . ._


	6. Biding Their Time, A Deep 6 FF: Kate B

**Disclaimer: Don't own NCIS, do partly own Time Flies, but with full permission from owner to write from it on her profile.**

**A/N: The italics are my edited version of the Prologue to Time Flies, Kate's stuff by YouGottaSingAlong, edits by YouGottaSingAlong, concept by OutCold. "Biding Their Time", by BrightlyColoredSpiral, a Deep Six FanFiction.**

Kate crashed a fist into her keyboard for the sixteenth time that evening. She could not get over this six-foot thick, humongously high, steel reinforced concrete blast proof wall that lay in her way.

--------

_Lebron Jadon Tibbs turned his 1950s motorbike into the drive at high speed. The sun had risen not so long ago; retirement hadn't changed his habit of early mornings. Just now he had a bike instead of a job. A bike . . . and a wife. He kicked the _Felicia_ out of gear __and walked up the drive. As he walked he almost smiled, passing his car. Retirement hadn't changed his driving, either. His wife of two years, Felicia, used to say he 'drove like a bloody maniac', until she tried it herself, and now she was worse than him. He chuckled to himself as he walked through the door. She was in the kitchen, with two mugs of coffee._

---------

Gibbs who had leant in over her shoulder, snorted derisively. Kate lifted a finger to his face, despite her light brown hair and brightly coloured clothing, she suddenly resembled Abby. Gibbs backed away, hand raised but smiling. "A motorbike, Kate?"

Kate scowled, "I got stuck, I couldn't think of anything like a boat but not a boat, that you could build in a basement." As Gibbs opened his mouth again, she pointed at the door. "Out."

"Kate, it's my base-"

"Out!" Kate stood up.

-------

"_You were out for a long time. I was about to start drinking yours."_

_He took it from her with a smile. He wished he had realized earlier that the path to happiness was to not pursue redheads._

_-------_

"Kate, tell me you did not just write that. Jethro will kill you. In fact, _I _might kill you." Felicity peered at the screen.

Kate took a deep breath in, _Calm Kate, just because this is a slow process... Clam.... centred....._ "Out."

"Kate, it's my house."

"Out!" Kate snarled.

--------

_Thomas DiNardo picked up the four year-old girl in his arms, whirling her around in the air._

"_God, you're getting __way__ too big for this."_

_She giggled. He put her down, before facing the woman by her side._

"_I'll make sure I'm not back late," he promised._

"_Like hell you will."_

_She knew the score._

"_I'll try."_

"_I know."_

_He laughed, and kissed his pregnant wife and his daughter goodbye._

_--------_

"Why won't you write right?" Kate slammed her head against the keyboard. "Why?" She slammed it again. "Why? Why?"

---------

_Nhjhjyujvgftrgftr_

_---------_

_McGregor strode confidently into the bullpen, pausing to listen to his team's conversation._

"_I'm telling you," said Luke Leon, his senior agent who was almost a younger-Tommy, "If you think our boss is bad, you should have met Tibbs. That guy was terrifying."_

"_More terrifying than McGregor?"_

_Jessica sounded panicked. McGregor bit his lip to stop himself laughing and interrupting too soon._

"_Please," scoffed Luke, "He was McGregor's McGregor."_

"_God," said Naomi – Ami– a liason agent from MI6, and the third member of his team, "I'm not sure I can imagine that."_

"_Is there a reason," McGregor said, walking to his desk, "that you three aren't working?"_

_The talk of Tibbs reminded McGregor of his original team. Amy still worked here in Washington, of course, Tommy had his team in Europe, Tibbs was retired, Pimmy was M.E., Ducky, poor Ducky, but at least they were still in contact, Lisa on the other hand . . . Since six months after she returned to Mossad, no one had heard from her. After so many years, they all presumed she was dead._

-----

"Yes. That's it, chip away at the cement. You can do it Ka-"

"Y'know, Kate, they say talking to yourself is the firs-" Lee wilted under the fourteen year old's glare. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving."

Kate should have known it was a bad idea to write at Gibbs' during the summer. Endlessly bored, family friends and _generally _bored team members dropped in and out constantly. The effect of Felicity on the place.

--------

_Lisa Dayen was about to start her first day in her new job – Mossad Head of U.S. Intelligence Liasons. Hopefully the less secret and dangerous job would allow her to contact her old teammates from NCIS. It would be an incredibly awkward reunion, but she knew they would forgive her. Apparently she had finally finished repaying her father for the years she had spent away from Mossad. There, she thought with satisfaction, almost thirty seconds without thinking about Idan. Idan Daniels was a Mossad undercover officer, and Lisa_

_-----_

"Why do you hate me? That is not how it should be? It doesn't sound bloody right."

Kate put her fingers back on the keyboard sighing. She had promised a friend she would update, so she would. She could do this. Kate began hyperventilating.

------

_and Lisa was his control officer. He had gone dark two days ago and she was worried sick. Because he wasn't just any officer, he was . . . her . . . boyfriend? No, she decided, lover. And she really did love him._

"_Lisa?"_

"_Yes, Jaron?"_

"_My wife wants me home on time today. Could you scan my assignments and email them to me? I'll do them when she goes to bed."_

_She looked at him._

"_It's a security breach."_

"_I'm really sorry . . ."_

"_Go, Jaron."_

_She wished she could say that they took rules like this more seriously, but the truth was, most of her co-workers who were married were having problems, and distant as they tried to keep themselves, they were all friends._

"_Thanks, I owe you one, Li."_

"_You owe me about a million."_

_He nodded and rushed out of the room. She didn't want to be the hay that broke the camel's back of his marriage. She resigned herself to an hour more in the office and started on his files. Jaron was part of the Kidon and most of his files were assassination orders. She flicked through them, mildly curious, but mainly bored, when she passed a familiar picture. Her heart in her throat, she flicked back._

_**Target:**__ Officer Idan Daniels_

_She felt like throwing up. She scanned over the rest of the page and nine words jumped out at her: -_

'_treason and assistance in the death of Arieh Heber'._

_Idan was a teenager, working hard to move his way up the ranks in Israel when Arieh died. Lisa wasn't sure if he'd even travelled out of Asia at that stage. There was only one person that his death was meant to affect. _

_Shaking, her hands reached the speed-dial on her phone. She had never moved the man she was calling off of it. A male voice answered,_

"_Hello?"_

"_Tibbs? I need help."_

_**I know it's not great. But, please review guys. That little button gets lonely if he's not pressed. You can do it.**_

----

She scrolled back to the top of the page and typed in.

**_Disclaimer: Don't own Deep Six, but if my pocket money's raised... Well, I'll buy them out eventually._**

-----

Kate had spent six hours working on that chapter the result was, "900 words. I've been working on you all day."

She broke down on her desktop, considering that maybe she was a little tired and should perhaps sleep.

First though, she went on and begun the slow and painful process of uploading, "_But I've already accepted the stupid Guidelines_." She hollered at the screen. "Piss off."

From the top of the stairs Abby and Simon waited to pick her up. Simon frowned gently. "Y'know, sometimes I wonder if that site's good for her."

_**I know it's not great. But, please review guys. That little button gets lonely if he's not pressed. You can do it.**_


	7. A Bottle Of Scotch: Jamye G and Gibbs

_**A/N: More from me. YouGottaSingAlong, OutCold's partner in crime, she says hi, and Emily, you're not to lose it.**_

_**Disclaimer: The only character I do not in any way own her is Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Only one.**_

Gibbs was considering slaughtering his future son-in-law. He knew that Jamye wasn't biologically his child, but she had been underage when Felicity and he had married, which had made him her guardian, a duty which he took very seriously. Hill Smith sat twiddling his fork, feeling Gibbs' glare burning a hole through the top of his head. Lee and Felicity exchanged bemused looks; Jamye looked as if she might sink through the floor.

Felicity made a brave stab at engaging Hill in conversation. "So you're a personal trainer?" She said putting a piece of chicken into her mouth.

Hill glanced quickly at Gibbs before nodding. Jamye stood up, "I think I'll go get the wine."

Lee smiled, "You're gonna need it." Felicity scowled at her eldest daughter. Lee sucked through her front teeth and tutted, before slicing down through the centre of her chicken breast, Gibbs, following suit, caused Hill to flinch. As Jamye sat back down, pouring herself a _very_ full glass of wine Hill gave her a pleading look. Jamye obliged, "So, um, you were working with a marine at the moment, how's he doing?"

Hill held his knife tightly, "Really well, um, he's, er, his legs are getting a lot stronger."

"What happened to him?"

"Injury in Iraq. Immobilised." Jamye was getting irritated by the monosyllabic answers. Hill smiled weakly. Gibbs scowled.

"Can you use that mouth, Smith?" Hill started at being addressed by the grey haired, former marine, the _very_ intimidating, grey haired, former marine.

"Y-yes, sir." Hill stuttered. Jamye stepped out again, going to the bookcase and removing her eighteenth birthday present from Gibbs. Swigging a long draught from the silver bottle, Jamye dialled a number into her phone.

-----

Patrick stood in front of his mirror, "Patrick, you have the body of a temple." His phone began ringing and he regretfully stepped away, "Jamye, this better be good. I was busy stereotyping gay men- What?... You're an idiot my dear.... What were you thinking bringing your beau home to LJ?.... I'll pick him up."

Patrick grabbed a shirt and buttoned it up, "Abs of steel." He muttered, "Anyway, to the rescue."

-------

Jamye, close to killing herself, or perhaps her sister, who was egging Gibbs on, jumped to her feet when she heard the ring of a doorbell. "Thank God, a completely spontaneous visitor at half past eight in the evening."

Hill's eyes were wide and terrified, he had been sitting across from Gibbs and Felicity, one of whom was sitting looking bemused, with a soft smirk playing on his lips, the cat to Hill's mouse, and the other cradling glass of wine in her hands, contemplating it. Lee had long since been banished to washing up duty.

Patrick burst through the door, "LJ! I have friends we are going out tonight for an evening of drinks and splendiferous fun." A bleary looking Lucas appeared at the door, "And I've got Luke and..." McGee was hauled through the door, with a look that clearly said _Sorry, boss_, "... And Timmy, and some of the chaps we're meeting downtown."

Felicity raised her eyebrows at Jamye, who grinned sheepishly, before hauling Gibbs to his feet, "Go have... fun, Darcy."

Gibbs did not look like he was going to have fun, leaning down to whisper in his wife's ear he murmured, "If you'd said, I would have gone downstairs."

"That would've been rude."

"I was being rude anyway."

Pushing him at Patrick, Felicity smirked, "I would never have noticed."

------

Hill had gone home, all Jamye had to worry about now was Gibbs' wrath on his return. Gulping, she downed the last of, what at the beginning of the evening had been, a 500ml bottle of Scotch. Her older sister clapped her shoulder, "Jethro's going to kill you, sis, he's going to murder you."

"Thanks Lee." Jamye looked sarcastically over her shoulder. "Thanks."

_**Please review. Please.**_


	8. Ring As A Knuckleduster:Isaac and Ziva D

_Disclaimer: We all know what I don't own. _

_A/N: Hey Emily – this is me speaking form before France. I left this with Hannah to post in order to ease your insanity, if I wasn't able to. Enjoy._

* * *

They all looked at Isaac. The males, other than McGee, who'd left in order to make it to Sophie Vance's birthday, had been summoned by him. He swallowed.

"Um, I asked you all to come here, because . . ."

"Spit it out, Daniels," said Tony.

"I need advice."

"On what?" asked Lucas, eager at the prospect of fresh gossip.

"Ziva. I want, that is I'd like to, what I mean is . . ."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Fabian crossed his arms.

"I mean, I'd like to ask, but she might, I want, that is, I love her and-"

Leroy, exasperated, blurted out, "You want to ask her to marry you."

"Yes."

Lucas' grin grew steadily. Gibbs and Fabian smirked. Tony shook his head with a smile.

"It's just, I'm not sure she'd say yes. I can't really see her, you know, getting married, but I want, I'd like to marry her."

Tony snorted derisively.

"So ask her."

"You think?"

"Yeah, but wear . . . armour or something."

Isaac smiled.

"I am trained in combat too."

"If you say so."

They all stood up to leave, each slapping his shoulder on the way out with various comments along the lines of, "Good luck, mate."

Lucas leant over to Leroy and said,

"I was going to leave him to blabber."

-----

Isaac was prepared. He'd cleaned the apartment, cooked the dinner, laid out the flowers, put on music in the background that he knew she liked, and checked his body armour fifteen times. Isaac was prepared. One problem. Should he or should he not go down on one knee? From the way he saw it, it was not a romantic decision, but a purely tactical one. If he was low, he was seemingly at her mercy, but he could lunge forward and tackle her if she chose to attack. If he was high, he was on level with her, and most of his fighting techniques would be open to him. For half an hour, he had been trying various positions. Sighing, he sunk to one knee again.

"Ziva David, will you marry me?" he rehearsed, and speedily lunged forward where her legs would be. As he sprawled across the floor, the door opened. His brother, Aaron, walked in.

"What are you doing, אח קטן?"

"Practising."

"Tackling?"

Isaac frowned.

"Yeah, tackling."

Aaron glanced at the box pathetically concealed in his brother's hands.

"Maybe now is not a good time."

"Now is a perfect time."

He appeared to consider this.

"You have a point. Good luck, אח קטן."

"Thanks," Isaac replied grimly.

"I'll leave before Ziva returns, shall I?"

As Aaron left, Isaac returned to his dilemma. He tried standing up. _But I'll have a box to hold . . . I could use the ring as a knuckleduster. Hmm, I don't think it would fit me. I could just drop it so I have free hands. _He winced at the thought of potentially damaging the ring. He glanced at the clock. Five minutes to decide. He crouched down on his knee again. As he began to pull up the lid of the box, the door opened, and Ziva walked in. She had been shopping with a friend who Isaac had employed to get her out of the house, and upon entering was faced with the sight of him, in a blue linen shirt, open at the collar, and dark trousers, down on one knee, with a small black box in his hands. Her mouth fell open slightly. Speechless, she dropped her bag and the bag of shopping and walked over to him. She took the ring from the box and slipped it onto her finger, silently offering him her hand, which he took as he stood again. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips and laid her hand on his chest, causing her to frown in confusion.

"What do you have on?"

He smiled sheepishly. She glanced over to the table.

"You go remove your shell, I'll open the wine."

-----

"Who of your Israeli friends do you want to invite?" Isaac asked, collapsing back into his chair looking hopelessly at the piles of paper in front of him.

"Oh, um, Daniela, Karmel and Leila and Ba'al. You?"

"Well, I would have said Leila and Ba'al. We'll have to give Daniela and Karmel plus ones. Obviously Aaron and Raya."

They both looked at one another. For what was going to be a small wedding, they had realised there were far too many people they wanted to come.

"This is pointless, Isaac. We don't even know where to get married!"

"We've not been engaged for long. We both have holidays in a week; let's go away. Let's go to America, and talk to everyone in Washington. I'd love to meet Abby and Gibbs' families."

"And until then?"

He kissed her forehead.

"All you have to do is wear the ring."

-----

Abby was bouncing on the balls of her feet hyperactively outside the elevator. The doors pinged open.

"Ziva!" she cried, flinging herself forward. "Oh," she remarked, pulling back, "sorry, McGee."

He smiled and passed her, advancing to the bullpen. He looked at Lucas.

"How long?"

Lucas glanced at Abby and then at his watch.

"About ten minutes now, boss. She said she wanted to be there when they arrived."

"How does she have that _energy_? asked Tash in amazement.

"CafPow!," Jamey answered.

McGee turned to his desk, to find it occupied by his former boss, who raised his eyebrows in a sign of 'is there a problem?'.

"Ziva!"

The team all looked around.

-----

Isaac watched Abby crash into Ziva, and after a tight embrace, turn on him. Ziva had warned him, luckily, about this. He survived the hug, and the three of them, with the girls catching up excitedly walked over to meet everyone else. When everyone had greeted each other satisfactorily, he heard Ziva take a deep breath.

"We . . . have some news."

When Ziva was looking the other way, at Abby, Isaac noticed Lucas, McGee and Gibbs' eyes dart down to Ziva's hand, and Lucas give him a grin and a quick thumbs up.

"We are engaged," Ziva finished, finally.

There was a moment of silence and stillness, until everyone rushed to put their hands over their ears. Abby squealed.

"Congratulations, Ziva, Isaac," said McGee, and everyone soon began to follow suit in a babble of well-wishing.

Abby approached Isaac.

"You know that talk I said we should have in Poland? Now would be a good time," she said cheerily, with the same undercurrent of danger as he remembered from the first time she had told him about this.

He looked to Ziva for assistance. She smirked and inclined her head toward Abby, urging him on. He widened his eyes in fear. She grinned. Abby led him down to the lab he had heard so much about, where he was confronted by incredibly loud music, and a lanky man, working away, with earplugs in. Abby walked up to him and violently pulled one out. The man sprang round, startled.

"Abby!"

"Terry," she said coldly. "Skedaddle. Go. Shoo. Scram."

The man clapped Isaac's shoulder in a show of solidarity, before walking as quickly as possible out.

-----

They told Palmer and Bill down in Autopsy, from where they phoned Ducky. By nine o'clock that night they were all in Gibbs' basement, along with Simon, Leroy, Kate, Cassie, Felicity, Lee and Jayme. Jayme who was studying for her final exams, had agreed to take Cassie back home after a while and look after her while she revised.

"Ziva, Isaac, my wife Felicity and her two daughters –"

"Lee."

"Jayme."

Felicity smiled.

"Nice to finally meet you two. I heard a lot about you."

"You said 'tell me everything'," said Gibbs darkly.

She laughed.

Ziva noticed how the basement only had small projects, round the sides.

"No boat, Gibbs?"

Kate whacked Gibbs' arm, and he gently headslapped her.

"The stubborn git refuses to _start_ before he knows what he'll call her. I like this place better with a boat in it."

"Doesn't seem to stop you," mumbled Gibbs, throwing McGee a beer from the box of alcohol beside him, before returning to his bourbon.

"I like working down here, it does wonders for writers block," Kate supplied, seeing Ziva and Isaac's confusion.

"Work!" Leroy snorted.

Gibbs and McGee gave him _looks_. Ziva couldn't help a small laugh. Apparently, Kate was the favourite in the same way Abby was even if Leroy had the tighter bond with his mother.

"So, you are Abby's husband?"

Simon looked surprised at the sudden attention.

"Yeah, that's me. Simon. The lucky guy."

"I have to admit, I never thought I'd see her . . ." Ziva squeezed her eyes shut in concentration, "link the, no, tie, yes, tie the rope?"

"Tie the knot. What can I say Miss David? I can be persuasive."

She chuckled.

"Ziva, please. Well, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Simon."

"So," interrupted Lee. "Wedding stuff."

"Yes. Abby, would you be my, my . . . merde, what's wrong today . . .?"

"Maid of honour?" asked Jamey.

"Yes, thank you."

Abby squeaked in excitement, then rolled her eyes, and addressing the rest of the group, said,

"She has to _ask?_"

"And Gibbs, I wasn't going to bother with this, but now that I think about it, would you," seeing her begin to falter, Isaac leant over and whispered softly in her hear, "give me away?"

Gibbs' face cracked into one of his rare, genuine smiles.

"Papa Gibbs!" Lucas exclaimed with a laugh. "Daddy Gibbs!"

"Are you drunk, Logan?" asked Gibbs dryly.

"Nope!"

"Try again."

"Little bit, maybe . . ." thinking over his previous words, Lucas sobered immediately. "Oh God, Gibbs, sorry, no not sorry, but yes sorry, I shouldn't have . . ."

"We haven't decided where to have it yet," Isaac interrupted. "Any suggestions?"

Ducky and Tash looked at each other, smiling broadly, and said together,

"Britain."

And they started to plan.

-----

The rain battered against the windows of the hotel, and the wind howled. Isaac turned to the roomful of people.

"Will it be like this tomorrow?"

"No telling, my dear boy," answered Ducky.

"This is Cornwall," piped up Tash.

Isaac scowled for a second, but unable to keep it up, it soon turned to a mild expression of worry.

"I just want it to be perfect."

Aaron smiled kindly at him.

"Well, you did choose to have it in the UK, אח קטן."

-----

The next morning sunlight was shining through the same windows that were being beaten by rain the night before. Isaac asked Ducky about it while they were getting ready, if only to interrupt 'The Unabridged Chronicles Of What I Used To Do In Cornwall". Ducky smiled kindly.

"Welcome to Britain, Mr. Daniels."

-----

"Do you, Ziva David, take Isaac Daniels as your lawfully wedded husband?"

Ziva drew in breath. What had previously just been a large, open sign of affection, seemed incredibly important. Still, nothing changed.

"I do."

"Do you, Isaac Daniels, take Ziva David as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

"You may now –"

They didn't wait for him to finish.

* * *

_Couple of facts:_

_1) Isaac's method of proposal was discovered when Hannah and I were wondering if he would go down on one knee or not, Hannah started messing about with it, and we ended up using her messing about (thanks again to Hannah, YouGottaSingAlong, you must have checked her out BY NOW).__** Hannah here: I imagine Isaac was laughing less than I was.**_

_2) Aaron's frequent use of Hebrew all apparently means 'little brother'._

_Please review.__** And I'll ditto that for Hayley's sake, let's completely crash her e-mail with reviews.**_


	9. Okay, Dearest: Simon B and Abby S

_A/N: Was feeling depressed (who saw Torchwood, Children of Earth: Day 4?!?!) and then Tiva4evaxxx (Yes, you) was writing angst which made it worse, and I needed something light. _

_Disclaimer: I own Simon, well, sort of. Credit also to VousDevezChanter, for someone I think is an awesome character. Draw your own conclusions._

* * *

Simon Black stared desolately at the anonymous glass of alcohol in front of him, wondering absent-mindedly if its owner would claim it, or if he could just down it. His head hurt, due to Michael and Jennifer insisting on sitting _right _next to the blaring speakers. Jennifer had long since dragged Mike off to dance, leaving Simon deciding whether or not to get completely smashed. A hand darted out and grabbed the glass, and he was aware of someone sinking into the barstool next to him.

"Hey!"

The voice was perfectly friendly, but whoever it was had to yell to be heard. He turned.

Abby couldn't really deny that she enjoyed picking up the stranger sitting alone at the bar. She just couldn't resist the people who looked like they were in hell. It probably wasn't healthy. Nonetheless, fun. The guy really didn't look like he should be in a gothic club at all. Tall, very tall, lanky, slightly awkward looking, with mousy brown hair. Basic jeans and a dark grey shirt. The only black he was wearing was his trainers. And no make-up. Best guess – dragged here by someone and abandoned. Staring morosely at the glass she had left in the protection of Martin, the bartender. Best guess – alcoholic.

"Hi," he replied, not raising his voice. She read his lips.

"You know, you could just order your own drink!" She continued to yell over the music.

"What?"

"If you want one that badly!"

Simon was suddenly intrigued by this woman, who, in this club, couldn't be described as strange-looking, or with an unusual style, but on the street certainly would be. However, despite the dark dress sense, hair, make-up, tattoos . . . her face shone with a mischievous smile, and though her words were blunt, they were spoken with an edge of amusement that softened them.

"I don't," the words would have been soft even in silence, they were lost before leaving his almost motionless lips.

She rolled her eyes. He _would _make it difficult.

"What about a dance?"  
"What?!"

"Do You Want To Dance?!"

"Ummm . . ." he didn't want to dance. He wasn't rude enough to refuse. "Sure."

She grinned and grabbed his hand, pulling him into chaos. Simon's brain shut down on all but the techniques he'd been taught to deal with his claustrophobia. Unfortunately, they didn't include dancing. Where anyone else would have been exasperated, Abby found this hilarious. After five minutes of attempting to coordinate, she led him back to the bar, further from the speakers.

"You are a hopeless dancer," she managed to say, between fits of giggles.

Simon wondered whether to just nod, or be truthful. Eventually, he panted,

"Claustrophobia."

She looked at him disbelievingly.

"This isn't exactly your chosen water hole, is it?"

He looked shocked.

"How did you . . .?"  
"What?"

"What?"

"Okay, mate, What Are You Talking About?" Abby asked.

"My bar, its, you know, it's the, umm, uh, the W-w, the Water Hole, on, on 8th?"

Abby, who had just contained her laughter, lost control.

"I was . . . talking about slang for bar – water hole?"

"Oh. Sorry, I take things literally, I'm an SFX technician, I work with computers."

"SFX? Cool. You done anything I'd have heard of? I work with computers too, I'm a forensic scientist."

They talked for an hour more, but didn't attempt to dance again. Eventually Abby said she had to get into work early the next day.

"On a Saturday?"

She looked caught out.

"Well, yes, sort of, I have to catch up on filing, I haven't done it for a couple of weeks, and we've just closed a case."

Ever the gentleman, Simon paid for their last round of drinks, and turned,

"Can I walk you to your house?"

She seemed to carefully consider the offer, then smiled.

"Why not?"

As they walked along the streets, enjoying the relative quiet in which they could comfortably talk, Abby subconsciously took a back alley shortcut to her home. She turned to Simon, who had been haltingly answering her question on special effects, glancing over constantly to make sure he wasn't boring her, and suddenly felt a weight slam into her back. She ducked low, and her attacker flipped over her back, at which point she flung herself on top of him, pinning him down expertly and withdrawing a concealed knife (the rules applied to her, right?). Worried, she tried to see Simon, who she wasn't sure could handle himself in a fight. When she did find him, he was on the other side of her, with a second guy in a single-armed headlock, ropy muscles showing under his shirt that she hadn't noticed. He smiled at her as he fished for his mobile.

"Does it count as an emergency if you've got the guys?"

She chuckled.

"I think you're allowed to call 911."

"It's not wasting police time?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Call."

"Okay."

When they ended up at the police station, Simon muttering, "This is wasting _my _time," a cop turned to him and Abby. Simon stopped him, realising what they were about to be asked, and wanting to get there first.

"Hi, I'm Simon," he said, ignoring the policeman.

"Abby, Abby Sciuto."

The police officer coughed.

"Miss Sciuto, if you could go with my colleague," he said, gesturing to another officer.

"Gladly."  
"And sir, with me." The officer began to move off, before turning as Simon stood up, "Oh, and I hope I won't waste too much of your time."

-----

It was only the next day, with a mountain of files, and a killer hangover, that Abby realised she never got Simon's e-mail. Or his surname. Shame, she'd quite liked the guy. She knew he was a SFX technician, his name was Simon, and he drank at the . . . oh, come on . . .

"Water Hole!" she exclaimed.

The team, having just entered, shot worried looks at one another.

"Abby?" asked Tony.

Her head snapped up.

"Oh. Hi guys."

She looked up the street and saw the bar immediately. It was a very classic type, in her mind, quaint, the kind of place she saw Ducky going. Not the kind of place she went, but since when did that stop her? She approached the barman.

"Hey, do you know a guy who drinks here? Tall, skinny, mousy hair, tall? Kind of shy?"

The bartender shrugged, he was not the regular, but his wife was on the toilet and had asked him to cover her for a few minutes. From behind him, along with a flushing toilet, came a yell of, "That's Simon, she wants, Noel. He's usually in the corner."

The bartenders face lit up, he pointed at the corner mentioned, "Man at the laptop over there, kid."

"Thank you," she said with a smile, and looked at where he had indicated. Simon sat there, hunched behind his laptop, focusing intently. She sat in the next seat at his table and leant over his shoulder. She saw a pasted image of an alien of some sort onto a background.

"Don't you use greenscreens or something?"

He looked up, reverie broken.

"Abby?"

"Seriously, do I look like someone else you know?"

"How do you think I got to that club?"

She frowned slightly, then her face cleared.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. So?"

"What? Oh, um, well, yes, but, not, that is, well, you don't need – "

"Point taken."

"How did you find me?"

"The Water Hole on 8th, remember how I mysteriously knew you drank here?"

He blushed, then grinned weakly.

"Sorry, still a bit hung over."

"Only a bit?!"

He laughed and stood up, Abby, although unsure why, followed suit. He held out his hand, "I don't really think I introduced myself properly. Hi, I'm Simon Black."

She took it and shook enthusiastically, "Abby Scuito."

Simon sat down, taking a gamble turned the computer slightly in her direction, "Do you want to help turn a tennis ball into a terrifying, man-eating monster?"

Her face lit up.

"I'd love to."

-----

Tony's suspicions of the last month were confirmed as Abby dragged a man by the hand into the bullpen. She stood with him in the middle, and announced,

"Everyone, this is Simon. We've been going out for a while. He's a SFX technician, and you're all to be nice to him."

Gibbs stood and walked to face the man. Simon's features took on a slightly determined expression as they stared at one another. After a few minutes, Gibbs slowly extended a hand. Simon, still holding his gaze, shook it firmly. Gibbs leant down to Abby's ear.

"He'll do."

She grinned. Now Gibbs had acknowledged him, the rest of the team greeted him in a more friendly fashion. Tony reached out to McGee, who rolled his eyes as he surrendered a fiver from his pocket. Simon started to say something, but Abby held him back, reached up to the two men, and whacked their heads.

In the elevator once she had decided Simon had spent a sufficient amount of time meeting everyone, she asked, eagerly,

"What do you think?"

"Your boss is terrifying."

-----

"Simon, we need to talk."

"Don't say that," Simon panicked.

"Okay. Simon, I'm pregnant."

He groaned.

"Simon!"

Looking up apologetically, he asked,

"Well what was your first reaction?!"

She shut up.

-----

Simon walked for the sixth time that day through the hospital doors, with his sixth, Starbucks bought latte. Nine months of overwrought, psychopathic hormones, they had been the only thing keeping him alive. That was the problem with pregnant women. They always seemed to think they had it worse. Screw the medication their partners had to remain on every single day for 270 days, it was _them_ who had to have their every tiny need tended to, them that deserved to get pineapple sorbet (including the thirty mile drive to find some at one o'clock in the morning) only to chuck it in the bin on sight, them…

"_SIMON!_" There it was, back into the lion's mouth, Simon threw his coffee into a bin on his way. Abby stiffened, shortly after his entry, Simon and the doctor both turned to her.

"Is something wrong?"

Abby sniffed, "Who's had caffeine?" Both men were grabbed, with an almost superhuman strength. "_You both had coffee?!_ You both _dared _to caffeinate yourselves, while I have been stuck in a caffeine deprived whirl for eight months. And on the day _my child is due_ you both go and have a few cups of coffee. Were they nice cups, did they have little quotes on them?" Simon and the doctor exchanged glances only seconds before, mid rant, Abby crashed their heads together. "GET THIS THING OUT OF ME!"

Simon Black thought for one second afterward that childbirth was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen, but then he remembered pregnancy. Simon withdrew a phone from his pocket and left his child and Abby to fondle, as he exited the building. "Timothy," he hissed, "Where are you?"

Two minutes later, Special Agent Timothy McGee entered Abby's ward with a CafPow! in one hand. He handed it to her and smiled at the infant.

"Hey, Leroy," he said.

"Leroy?" asked Simon.

Abby looked sheepish.

-----

"I'm having bride's-men."

"Okay."

"It's so sexist that women have to have women."

"Okay."

"Besides, it's not like there's really anyone left I could ask, I don't know Tash or Jamey that well yet, so I'm having bride's-men."

"Okay."

"Is it just me or have you only said 'okay' for half an hour? You aren't really paying attention, Simon."

"Okay, dearest."

"Weddings go two ways. There's a bride _and _a groom."

"All right."

"SIMON!"

"What?!"

"Better. Now, you agreed to this wedding."

Just managing to prevent rolling his eyes, Simon couldn't quite contain a low,

"Don't I know it."

"Simon . . ."

He recognised her 'warning' tone, and snapped to attention.

"I think black roses would be lovely, I'm not uncomfortable about your gothic style elements and I appreciate you're toning it down for me. Ummm . . ." he struggled to think of anything else he remembered about the wedding.

Abby loomed over him, snatching the paper from in front of him, "You may want to consider _doing_ something for this wedding."

Simon removed his reading glasses, he had been waiting for that, "I have a tux, I have gone over procedure with my Best Man, who I have obviously chosen, I spoke with Gibbs about seating, he told me to piss off. What more do you want me to do?" As Abby's mouth opened he put a finger up. "I have sorted out the rings, which are in safekeeping and I have _hand_written the seventy-three invitations on the list you gave to me two months ago. They are stamped and addressed, ready to go on your command."

Looking dumbstruck, Abby filled in the catering form, enveloped it, and handed it to him.

"Send that with the invites."

He stood, brushing himself down, smirked at her, and set off to the post office. Abby smiled to herself, running her finger over the engagement ring.

-----

It was a beautiful service, held in a large cathedral – picked by Abby, paid for by Simon. On the left stood Abby, and behind her Gibbs, Tony and McGee, wearing Abby's chosen black suits and shirts, silver tie for Gibbs, green for Tony, blue for McGee. On the right was Simon, with Mike behind him, who thoroughly approved of the bride, and would gloat for many years that Simon ended up with a Goth. In the first pew, a disgruntled blond man, tie askew, with an infant on his lap, muttered,

"Lucas Logan, Babysitter Extraordinaire."

Tony looked up in fear as Abby approached him afterwards.

"You didn't say a proper goodbye."

He gulped.

"But I gave you full permission to dress me up in a kangaroo suit at your wedding!"

She grinned, and reached for her phone.

"That offer holds for the after party, right?"

-----

"Simon, we need to talk."

"Oh God, not again."

She grimaced.

"Yeah."

* * *

_Must I _say _it? Really? Review. I'll really, really, really appreciate it. It will cheer me up if they've really done what they can't have done on Torchwood. **They really did it and they made it WORSE.**_

_Okay?_


	10. General Shoe Obsession: Tash P, Lucas L

_Disclaimer: I actually own a lot. Not NCIS._

_A/N: Me, leaving stuff with Hannah so she can UD while I'm away. How are you Emily? Sane?_

_A/N2: Tash/Lucas is a lot more popular than I thought it would be. That isn't why I wrote this, but it did influence how I wrote it._

_**These Summer OneShots will be named by me (Hannah, the usual one), as I have not been left instructions on that front. The original concept for this fic is found in the title.**_

* * *

Lucas snapped his eyes open. _What happened? Where am I? That is _not _my ceiling. Where am I? _Blinking rapidly, he swung his legs up and looked around. _Holy shit, I'm in Tash's apartment. How drunk was I last night? What happened? Fuck. _He considered making a quick escape, but decided it was only Tash (only Tash, the martial arts expert), and he'd try to find breakfast.

-----

_Three days earlier . . ._

Abby finished her enthusiastic description of the fungi on the wall, and how exactly it meant that NCIS was getting a little too damp. The three team members – McGee had long since escaped – nodded obediently, before attempting to file out of the room. Lucas, the last one to leave, turned in terror as he felt a sudden pressure around his wrist.

"Abby?" he said warily.

"Shhhh," she shushed him hastily, and started to whisper. "In two days time . . ." she glanced furtively around.

"Abby, there's no one there," he grinned.

"Shhh!"

Lucas rolled his eyes.

"In two days time," she continued in a low voice.

"Abby, would you kindly relinquish your grasp on my wrist?"

She looked down and seemed surprised that she was still holding on to the steadily bruising joint.

"Sure. Sorry, Lukey," she said normally, before dropping her voice again. "In two days time . . ."

"Abby!"

"It's McGee's birthday!"

His eyes widened in wonder.

"It's McGee's what-day?"

-----

Timothy McGee had had a very strange day. After the normal birthday morning tradition of a call from Sarah, he'd headed in for a normal day at work. But his three agents had been whispering in corners and exchanging glances, and he couldn't help but wonder _what they'd done_. He put his key in the lock of his apartment door, but it wouldn't turn. Confused, he pushed it. The door swung open. He grabbed his gun.

"Timmy! Don't point that at me!"

"Abby?" He put it away. "What are you doing here?"

She threw a present at him.

"Abby, I made you promise not to bother . . ."

"Crossed my fingers," she said, perching on the end of his sofa. "Open up."

McGee, amused and slightly flattered, opened it to reveal dark jeans and a simple grey t-shirt.

"Go put them on."

"Abby . . ."

"Go!"

-----

"No."

"Tim!"

"Abby, no."

The club had a crowd gathered outside the doors, a crowd that contained Lucas, Tash and Jamey. Lucas waved, while the two girls were engrossed in conversation. Abby beeped the horn, and they began to head over. Lucas stumbled over and opened the passenger side door, revealing McGee.

"C'mon, boss! Have some fuuun! Happy birthday toooooo yoouuu, happy birthday yooouuu tooooooo . . ."

Abby burst out in hysterics.

" . . .Is . . . he . . . slightly . . . drunk?!"

Tash and Jamey simultaneously nodded exasperatedly.

"Okay, you two save McGee from him, or him from McGee, I'll get Timmy inside."

------

Tash felt a hand close around hers, and whipped around. Lucas stood grinning widely.

"Tash!" he yelled over the music, "let's _dance_!"

Tash reasoned that this might be a very bad idea, among many other things, he was likely to tread on her feet in his state. Still, she was out, having a laugh, and maybe just a tiny bit tipsy. She downed the dregs of her drink and laid it on the bar, letting Lucas drag her out onto the dance floor. Soon, she'd lost track of how long had passed, caught up in the atmosphere – the deafening music, the crowded club, a surprisingly good partner, for someone who'd drank so much . . . she didn't even notice that her feet, encased in black heels, were aching like hell. Suddenly, a hand was laid on her shoulder. She jumped, but heard,

"Tash," in her ear.

"Yes, McGee?"

"Take him back to yours."

She spun around to face him, in shock. He sighed and shook his head.

"_Make him sleep on the couch._"

She let out her breath in relief.

"Sure, see you tomorrow, boss."

------

Lucas staggered in the door, his arm draped for support around Tash's shoulders.

"Steeeaaady, Logan."

"Mm not a horse, Nat-a-sha."

"OK, mate, let's get you to lie down."

"Nnnnot tired," he said with a smile, kicking off his shoes and tottering away from her into the living room. "Nice furnishing, got good . . . taste. Cool speakers, can I?"

"Lucas!"

He ignored her and turned on music before he continued to explore.

"Books, books, books," he opened a cupboard, "more books," and a door, "wow, umm, gym, well sort of. Punching bag and speed bag and, and stuff," and then another cupboard. She leaped forward to stop him. She was too late. "Wow."

On a shoe rack sat about twenty pairs of Converses, in different colours, patterns and styles. He knew she liked Converses and had two or three pairs, but . . . had she really worn that many?

"Some of them I don't wear to work," she said, guessing at his train of thought.

"Do you have any . . . other shoes?"

She pointed mutely at the heels she had just chucked in and a pair of trainers in the corner.

"Wow."

"Maybe you should get some sleep now, Lucas?"

"No, no. You have to tell me about the Converse thing."

He dragged her over to the couch and sat at one end of it, she reluctantly sat at the other.

"There's really not that much to it, I've always liked them, so I always got them."

"See, lots of women have a general shoe obsession, but . . ."

"No."

"Right . . ." he said drowsily, blinking rapidly.

She got up to turn off the music, and when she looked back at him, he was asleep. Smiling, she pulled a blanket over him, and went to bed.

-----

Lucas snapped his eyes open. _What happened? Where am I? That is _not _my ceiling. Where am I? _Blinking rapidly, he swung his legs up and looked around. _Holy shit, I'm in Tash's apartment. How drunk was I last night? What happened? Fuck. _He considered making a quick escape, but decided it was only Tash (only Tash, the martial arts expert), and he'd try to find breakfast. After five minutes of rummaging through cupboards, he saw Tash emerge from her 'gym', pulling off boxing gloves.

"Morning."

"Hey Tash – is there any, _food_?"

"Coffee's in the top cupboard."

He looked taken aback.

"I want breakfast."

"Fussy. There's a bakery on my running route - I'll grab something. Or you could just shift your arse home."

He walked over and put on the music again.

"I'll wait."

-----

Jamey watched from the window of NCIS.

"Boss?" she said unsurely.

He looked up.

"Why are Tash and Lucas coming into work together?"

Her uncomfortable manner reminded McGee of the conclusions he used to jump to about Tony and Ziva. He could put girl out her misery. He smirked.

* * *

_Ha, writing drunken Lucas is fun.__** Despite the fact she took the usage privileges on Lucas a little too far. I said drunk, not completely smashed.**_

_Please review._


	11. Hot, Sweaty And Waiting For The Bus

_A/N: This was based on something that happened to me in real life. Take calmer, slightly more rational Tash as OutCold, and losing it, intolerant Lucas as VousDevezChanter._

_-----_

They had been abandoned, thrown out the car for bickering, by McGee, at a bus stop. Tash sat down in the shelter beside Lucas, "What do you want to do? The next bus in our direction isn't for half an hour... there _might_ be one in ten minutes, but I think it's the one going in that direction." She pointed in the opposite direction from the way they wanted to go.

"I'm dying." Lucas, as far back in the wooden bus shelter as he could get, had small, but growing sweat patches under his armpits. Tash wisely chose to ignore this.

"Yep, I'm sure you are. Hot, sweaty, and waiting for bus."

Lucas grinned, "We should write a play called that." He held up his hands, captioning what he was saying, "'Hot, Sweaty, And Waiting For A Bus!'"

About five minutes passed, Tash was sitting on the floor near the front of the shepter, with the sun tanning her skin. Lucas, pale as ever despite the sun that had blazed down on him for the last five days, sat at the back, moaning about the heat.

Tash nodded. "So? What do you want to do? We could walk on to the next stop. Just for something to do."

"Or we could go back to that village we passed and get a drink."

"We're just going to end up sitting here talking about what we should do till the bus gets here, aren't we?"

"Probably, at least it's providing some conversation."

"Yeah." They fell silent for a couple of minutes, until Lucas stood up and walked over to the edge, peering up and down the road.

He frowned. Tash looked round, "What's up?"

"Why are there so many cars going up there? What's so brilliantly exciting in that direction?" He pointed up a side road.

Tash glanced round the edge of it, "I think there's a couple of electronics shops up there, and a way to the main road."

Lucas wasn't really paying attention to the latter reason and a couple of minutes later asked, "What's so exciting about an electronics shop?"

Long suffering, Tash repeated, "I think there's a way onto the motorway."

"Ah, cool."

More time with limited conversation passed. Lucas asked for maybe the twentieth time, "How long is it till the bus should get here?"

"About five minutes." Tash checked her phone.

"Where are you bus?" Lucas leant out again, this time staring towards the roundabout. "Wait, that's a bu- No, it's going that-ah way." He pointed down the road that led away from them, facing across the road.

"_Where are you bus?_"

He muttered in a slightly sing-song voice.

"_Where are you bus?_

_Why aren't you here?_

_Why ar-en't you,_

_Pi-i-cking us up?_

_Where are you bus?_

_To pick up Tash and I?_

_Waiting for you bus,_

_Why aren't you here?"_

Tash rolled her eyes, laughing, before she realised that Lucas was going to continue, non-stop for another five minutes.

"_Where are you bus?_

_Tash, what's the time?_

("It should have arrived about a minute ago.")

_Why are you late?_

_Where are you bus?_

_You're killing Tash and me,_

_Particularly Tash,_

_Whose rest-train-ing herself,_

_From throt-tel-ing me._

_Where are you bus?_

_Making me sing,_

_For five minutes min-utes_

_Or more_

("How long are you planning on going on for?")

_Till the bus arrives,_

_B'cosnowit'snotjustasong_

_It's a matter of pride._

_Where are you bus?_

_Where are you bus?_

_I'm hot, sweaty and waiting for a bus."_

The note of finality in that line made Tash perk up hopefully, but Lucas was only taking a two second throat break.

"_Whre are you bus?_

_Why aren't you here?_

_Why are you late?_

_My friend the bus,_

_Will you hurry up?_

_Because Tash is about to go mad._

_It's too late for me._

_I'm sing-ing this song,_

_Bu-ut for Tash:_

_Where are you bus?"_

Tash over the next four minutes, became more and more stressed as the awful singing, tuneless and toneless issued from Lucas' lips. "Could you _please_ shut up, Luke?"

He shook his head and continued on with the chorus.

"_Where are you bus?_

_Why are you late?_

_Why haven't you come?_

_To save me from my fate."_

"Kill me," Tash muttered, but Lucas did not hear her as is warbling grew in volume.

------

Eventually, after almost ten minutes of non-stop singing, Lucas and Tash, sat in the bus. The cool, air conditioned bus. They sat down, Lucas grinned, "I call it 'Where Are You Bus, brackets, Hot, Sweaty And Waiting For A Bus'. It's the opening song for our play."

"Great."

"But, now it's stuck in my head." He started humming the tune on the full bus.

Tash hissed, "_Lucas, shut up_!"

"_Oh-o bus, I'm so glad you're here...."_

Tash once more looked as if she might cry.

-----

_Those lyrics were made up by VousDevezChanter, while sweating to death, waiting for a bus in France. This is a shortened, yet reasonably accurate description of what happened. Hayley, well done for not slaughtering me, Lucas was really getting on my nerves while writing this._


	12. To My Childhood: Fabian S

_Disclaimer: I don't own Tony, but otherwise . . . this one's mine._

_A/N: For VousDevezChanter (check out her fics if you like NCIS, Doctor Who, Torchwood or Star Trek: Voyager), for looking after this for me while I was away._

_A/N2: Vote on my poll if you haven't already, please check out my Time Flies prequel "Time Nor Tide" and oneshots about stuff that happened during Time Flies "Time Flies Too Fast"._

* * *

"Director?"

"What, Tony?" Violet Tomlin asked warily.

"The Murowicki case is going to take us a little out of our way."

"Where?"

"Torun."

She took a very deep breath.

"How long will you need to be there for?"

"Don't know yet."

"Tony, what's going to happen here is you're going to go and finish this quickly, then fill out the paperwork, and I'm going to sign it without looking at it, because I don't want to know what you do to solve your cases."

"Yes, Madam Director, but I swear, the elephant was a one-off."

He withdrew before she could say any more. As he wandered down the stairs her gave a thumbs up and a big grin to Fabian and Kathy. Fabian's jaw tensed slightly, the only outward indication of anxiety that he allowed himself.

-----

Torun was very old-town like, and very pretty. The three agents wandered down the street after talking to the family of the Lieutenant who'd been accused of smuggling drugs.

"Fabian!"

Fabian continued to walk, marginally, but not noticeably, picking up speed. Tony and Kathy turned in surprise, to see a man in his early forties with short blond hair striding out toward him. The man grabbed Fabian's arm. Fabian turned slowly.

"Filip."

"Fab! I _knew _it was you!"

Fabian winced slightly at the volume of his voice.

"Fab?" asked Tony.

Fabian nodded slightly toward his colleagues.

"Anthony DiNozzo," he frowned slightly, but only for a second, Tony, who had known him for so long, knew that he was hating this. "Kathryn Paris. This is Filip – "

The man leapt forward and shook Tony's hand enthusiastically, then turned to Kathy and did the same, while saying.

"Sawicki! Filip Sawicki! Pleasure to meet you! Who are you? Friends of Fabian's? Fantastyczny!"

"Filip _Sawicki_?" asked Tony.

Fabian nodded slightly.

"Your . . . ?"

"Brat."

"Brat?!"

Fabian looked like he was struggling not to hit something.

"Brother, Gudek."

"Oh, right – brat!"

Fabian nodded again.

"Gudek? You're Fab's boss?! And the lovely lady is . . .?"

"I'm his partner."

"Lucky him!"

Fabian winced yet again.

"At Work," said Kathy. "Fabian's not my type." She tried hard not to laugh.

"Am I?"

Fabian smirked.

"Not really," said Kathy, as giggles threatened again. "But do you have a sister?"

She finally broke and Tony laughed with her. This line of conversation appeared to cheer Fabian a bit, but only slightly, and only until he realised what Filip was about to do.

"Five! And five brothers, Fabian included!"

Tony and Kathy turned to Fabian, both glaring accusingly. He shrugged and let his shoulders and face fall out of their tensed positions into a look that could be generally translated from Fabian to English as 'So what? Relax, it's not important'.

"So," said Kathy, when she recovered from the shock, "you live here?"

"No, not anymore, but we're all back at home for a reunion." Tony would later swear that Fabian looked scared for a split second. "We sent Fab an invite."

Fabian made a very obvious point of exaggeratedly studying his fingernails.

"Yes," laughed Kathy sarcastically, "I expect that just got lost in the mail. Same way I was sleeping when Fabian told me all about his family."

"I assumed you'd lost them all in a horrible accident or something and didn't like to talk about it," added Tony.

"I know," drawled Fabian nonchalantly. "I let you."

"Cheer up, Fab!" yelled Filip. Fabian thought to himself that it was a wonder the man had stayed quiet so long. "Talk! What are you up to?!"  
Fabian shrugged.

"You're not still doing that mute thing?"

Fabian gave another, though halfhearted, shrug.

"Sort of," supplied Kathy.

"Well, would you like to come by and meet everyone?" offered Filip.

Fabian's hands began to curl into fists at his sides, then he sighed deeply and relaxed them. He tried to tell himself that this wasn't half as bad as some of the scenarios he'd been in (fighting three terrorists with no weapons and one hand handcuffed to a pipe came to mind), but he failed. He walked briskly ahead, to disguise the fact that he may as well be trailing obediently behind. Filip, Kathy and Tony walked behind, chatting animatedly.

They reached the large house, as Filip said,

"Don't bother trying to learn everyone's names, just ask people as you come to them. We have my parents, myself, now ten of my siblings, but you all know Fabian, and I don't even know how many grandchildren!"

Fabian stalked into the house, looking – Kathy found this amusing – moody. Once inside, Fabian easily cut through crowds of people, silence seemed to be left behind him, except for in the case of some young children.

"Fabian," Filip explained, "has not graced us with his presence for about ten years now."

"Fabian," announced a young woman fiercely, tossing her hair back over her shoulder," has not been invited from then until the year before this year, and if I had received an invite after all that time, I wouldn't have come either."

Fabian stopped in front of her, a ghost of a smile appearing. Out of sight, he tapped lightly on his leg for a while. She grinned, and responded in kind.

"Wow, I'm having flashbacks to my childhood," mumbled Filip.

Fabian turned around.

"Gudek, Kathy, my youngest sister, Adrianna," his eyes were slightly bright and he was smiling – softly, not smirking, and Kathy and Tony realised that the almost foreign emotion on his face was pride, and exchanged a look that said nothing more than _wow_. "Annie, my boss, Tony DiNozzo, and partner, Kathy Paris."

He seemed to have given up, or at least relaxed, his silence, and Tony was reminded of how he was around Jenny.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Sawicki," she winced, "or is Adrianna better?" she nodded, and Tony got the feeling that only Fabian ever called her 'Annie'. "Please, call me Tony."

Kathy introduced herself just as an older man walked out of the kitchen.

"Fabian, I wasn't expecting you to come."

"I'm working."  
As he said this he continued to tap on his leg. Tony recognised the code as Morse, and saw Adrianna watching out of the corner of his eye. **Otherwise he wouldn't have invited me. **Adrianna bit her lip to stop from laughing, and as the silent standoff between the two men continued, tapped back. **You were born a cynic and you'll die one. **This time it was Tony refraining from laughter, and he saw, from a twitch of his lip, Fabian. **Too right. **

"I'm an old man, Fabian," predictably, if you knew Fabian, the other man was the first to speak, "and I'm just glad to see my son again. The lost sheep returns."

Adrianna rolled her eyes, and Tony widened his – Fabian's family were religious? Fabian still said nothing, just stood, and stopped himself with great self-control from breaking the elder man's nose. Eager to break the uncomfortable silence, Filip said loudly,

"My father Hainreich," and as a grey-haired woman emerged from the same door as Hainreich, "and my mother, Sara."

Sara's face brightened immediately at the sight of her son.

"Don't bother," grumbled Hainreich, "he's working."

She ignored her husband, as Fabian approached, and stooped down to embrace her. He whispered in her ear, she smiled at the words, and as he withdrew, he kissed her cheek lightly. Fabian then turned and walked out into the garden, past hoards of children behind some trees.

"Adrianna?" pleaded a tired Sara, and the woman set off after him. She smiled at the newcomers. "There's this little clearing up in the woods. Fabian's loved it since he was very small. Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

Both politely declined, but took up the offer of a seat. People began to file out side, until Tony and Fabian were left with Hainreich, Sara, Filip, two identical men who introduced themselves as Jakub and Marek, and a woman named Tekla.

"So," began Tony, his eagerness reminding him of meeting Jackson Gibbs, "when did he stop talking? I mean did he never really . . .?"

"Ach, Fabian was as talkative as any little boy," grinned Jakub.

Tekla grimaced.

"You've spent too much time in Scotland."

"No such thing!" Jakub almost yelled in defense of his adopted country.

Hainreich rolled his eyes. Marek took up the story.

"He just decided one day, too much of this crazy household I suppose, where there was never any silence, that he would create some. He must have been about seven."

"We thought it would pass quickly, but he didn't say a word for years," chimed in Filip.

"Glupi," Heinreich muttered.

"Not until he was twelve," Sara said. "We sent him to a speech therapist, but in the end, I think he just realised life was easier if you allowed yourself to talk now and then. But he's been how he is now since then."

"Where did the Polish Anti-Terrorism Department come in?" questioned Kathy.

Hainreich strode out, slamming the door after himself. Sara smiled apologetically.

"At first, we all just thought it was an act of stupid rebellion, but I've long since realised Fabian was always suited for that sort of work. We're a family of pacifists, you see, but he never was. He got into fights because people bullied him, and, well, he never said anything to protect himself, did he? I guess they thought he wouldn't do anything to protect himself either. He always won. I was concerned, but he always said it was only really bullying if it affected you. I thought he was putting a brave face on it, but seeing him now, I really don't think he cared. When Adrianna was about ten, though, they started using her to get through to him. She was always a bit . . . different, off in a dream world half the time, but she was tough, and could have taken it just fine, till one of them decided they'd shove her about a bit."

Tony grimaced at the thought – he wouldn't lay a hand on Fabian's sister if you paid him.

"_Did_ Borys ever walk again?" came a lazy voice from outside, and they turned to see Fabian leaning on the doorframe, Adrianna standing behind him, shaking her head, but laughing.

"I don't think so Fab, no."

"That wasn't right, Fabian, it was hardly equal force, and you shouldn't have attacked him anyway," said Tekla.

Adrianna snorted.

"Stop being a righteous prat, Tekla, just because you _kochany_ on," Tekla blushed. "An eighteen year old guy picking on a ten year old girl," she raised her left arm to show a faint white scar. "Twelve stitches, and five in my head," she said, pushing aside her hair to show another scar. Adrianna turned to her favourite brother, happy to get the opportunity to use one of her favourite phrases that she had learnt through four years in the States. "Fabian – let's blow this joint."

Tony couldn't help but laugh.

-----

Later that week, case closed and back in Gydnia, Fabian received a phone call. After five minutes, he flipped the phone shut.

"Anything interesting, Fab?" asked Tony, yawning.

Fabian shook his head.

"Who was it?"

"Hainreich."

"And?"

"I don't think I'm getting an invite next time."

Tony and Kathy laughed, though they were stunned by his father's cruelty, and Fabian chuckled briefly with him.

-----

Kathy closed the file with a sigh. She'd come back in late to finish her report, and because she'd completed it earlier than she thought, headed downstairs. Two years beforehand, NCIS Gydnia hadn't used much of it's budget, and had installed a small firing range in order to use more, so that it would still get a decent amount the following year. Kathy was under the impression Director Tomlin had filed it under 'Training Costs'. As she began to choose a weapon she heard a shot. And another. And another. Each shot was fired in identical timing. She looked and saw Fabian, and knew they'd all be hitting the bull's-eye too. Looking closer, she thought she saw tears welling in his eyes, but this was Fabian, so he blinked, and when he opened his eyes, they were gone. He fired again.

* * *

_Please - I live off reviews._


	13. Pickled Wood In The Forest: Fabian S

_Disclaimer: Again, I don't own Tony, but I do own everything else._

_A/N: This is just completely random and for fun, but I found writing it immensely enjoyable._

_A/N: This was co-written with VousDevezChanter, and you should all read and review her fics._

* * *

**Kathy was bored, Kathy was really, really bored. Kathy was doing Admin, and had been for three days straight now. Kathy, was, **_**bored**_**.**

Kathy removed her hands from the keyboard, staring at the words she had typed. She glanced at her watch. Only four hours to go . . . she pulled open the top drawer of her desk and removed a random disk. Facial identification software it was then. Slotting it in, she briefly considered searching for some unknowns in cold case files, before a better idea came to her. She opened up the internet and clicked on to Network Diagnostics.

"Hardware, hardware, hardware . . ." she muttered to herself, "there! . . . connect . . . no, you bloody thing, connect – I don't need a password, what? Oh, right, yeeessss, come on . . . YES!"

Upload picture, browse . . . Tony? Yeah, why not? Or, wait . . . Fabian. Select, upload. Search the internet? Yes. Boring. Profile. Boring. Police report. Boring . . . what?

-----

_Twenty-two year old Fabian Sawicki made his way through the streets of New York City, flanked by one of his best friends Neil Fields, and another friend of Neil's, Marc van Eeuwen, from the Netherlands. The three were trying to make it back to Neil's apartment, hindered by the fact that two of their number were hopelessly drunk. Fabian instinctively reached out to grab Neil's arm as he attempted to cross the road. Marc and Neil continued to stumble along, Fabian, growing irritated, took hold of their wrists and dragged them into a diner, forcing them up the back to the bathroom, while receiving strange looks from the customers and staff. Here he shoved both their heads under cold taps. Eventually, sober enough to realise what was going on, they both pushed back, and Fabian, satisfied, released them. _

"_I'm not drunk anymore," commented Marc, a man Fabian had come to like, but who was incredibly talkative._

"_Good."_

"_No, it's not. It means I'll be hung over sooner!"_

_Fabian cocked his head, in a sharp movement to the side, his version of a grin, "Good."_

_Neil staggered over to Fabian grabbing his shirt, his next sentence and action clearly showing he was still smashed, "You know, man, I am so sorry, for everything. I mean it, dude, I love you guys, I love you both. You rock, ma-" Neil threw up over what had been Fabian's pristine white shirt. Fabian grabbed the back of his neck, and shoved his head under the tap again, holding it now for far longer. Neil pluttered, and yelled,_

"_I'm sober, I'm sober, I'm SOBER, FABIAN!"_

_Ten more seconds passed._

"_AND I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY – FABIAN!"_

_Fabian finally let go. Marc was giggling hysterically. Neil plummeted backward as the pressure against him disappeared. He crashed to the floor. Fabian began to unbutton his shirt, making a show of his distaste. He filled the bathroom sink with water and submerged the shirt in it, moving to the next sink to wash his hands thoroughly. He then poured fabric cleaner over the shirt. Marc frowned in confusion, looking at Neil._

"_Where did that come from?"_

"_One thing you'll learn about Fabian," answered Neil, "you really don't wanna know."_

_A tentative knock came from the door._

"_Sirs? You've been in there a while . . ."_

_Fabian tilted his head, indicating that one of them should open it. Neil did. The waitress looked in. Fabian smiled charmingly._

"_We had an . . . accident. Could you do me a favour?"_

_-----_

Kathy clicked on the first match, then the second, her mouth agape. "This is not Fabian? No way..." She loaded one of the pictures into a separate program, along with the photo from Fabian's file. Less than a second passed before "100% Positive Match" flashed up on the screen. "Not right, not right . . . no way. Lying, thieving computer programs." She studied the two images for herself. There really wasn't much doubt that it was a, somewhat younger, Fabi- "Wait! He has about a hundred brothers!" She yelped, the idea forming in her head, it made significantly more sense. Fabian's... twin... identical twin that he never spoke about...

-----

_Fabian emerged from the bathroom, in a double-breasted chef's jacket, Marc and Neil at his sides, trying to contain their laughter. Neil tugged his sleeve, "Monsieur Chef Man, after a dip in the _sink_ I need you, dear friend that you are- to buy me a coffee, before I die of pneumonia." _

_Patrick William Kennard looked at the three young men with interest. He turned to his companion. "Two o'clock," He muttered._

_The other man shrugged, "Bit young for my liking..."_

_Patrick grinned. "If you say so, but I meant for PWITF."_

"_Oh. That is so typical... do you ever stop working?"_

"_You said 'just friends'..."_

_Fabian and Neil took a seat with Marc, and Fabian gave him the coffee._

"_Thanks," he grimaced, taking a large swig. "Sure you don't want a cup of the greatest human vice, my friend?"_

_Fabian nodded. He slouched back in his seat, observing the street languidly through the glass doors of the diner._

_Patrick leant past his friend's head. "It's like he's deliberately posing for me."_

"_Paedophile," murmured the man._

"_Hey! He looks overage . . ."_

"_Pervert," the man corrected. _

"_You are still bitter, Edward. Still bitter..."_

"_Does everything have to be about you?"_

"_No. That young man isn't about me."_

_Almost against his will, Edward glanced over his shoulder. He turned back and whistled softly._

"_I thought he was too young for you?" teased Patrick._

"_For PWITF, of course," replied Edward, "not for me."_

_Neil leant over the back of his chair, being the type who listened to everything going on around him, to greet the two men, "Neil Graeme Fields, I'm that 'young man's' agent. Can I help you?"_

_As Marc turned to help Neil, Fabian continued to stare out of the door, at the cars passing by, and the people, and the streetlights, having long since passed his original line of thought – 'my friends are such idiots' – and graduated to a half-dreaming state that in his later years would be foreign to him. _

_Marc shook Patrick's hand, forgetting to introduce himself as he gaped, "Patrick William Kennard, right? You were in the _Post_ last week?"_

_Patrick began to answer, but Neil cut him off, just to make sure Marc understood the joke._

"_Mr. Kennard has an interest in some work for my client," he said, gesturing toward the not-entirely-conscious Fabian. _

_Marc twigged, "Oh yes. Young client-y... dude?"_

"_Yes." Neil behind the chair made a "cut it out" motion with his hand. "Why don't you talk to him about it, while I buy these good men some drinks?"_

_-----_

The elevator opened with a ping. Kathy hastily minimised everything she was doing and opened up a case report.

**Agent Sawicki and I then visited the mother of Petty Officer Williams, with the intention of asking about **

Tony peered over her shoulder.

"Thought you'd have done that by now?"

She looked sheepish, but only briefly.

"The Director asked me to take a look at some cold case files – facial recognition stuff. Because the advanced recognition software has a new –"

"I don't want to know."

"Yes, Gudek."

Fabian smirked at her. Tony, luckily, had not been facing her, but he had, and knew she was lying. _Mental note: continue to search for giveaways in front of mirror_. The two men sat at their desks, turning, with regret, to their own piles of paperwork, significantly larger now than Kathy's. She cautiously re-opened the windows.

-----

_Neil woke groggily. As the events of the previous night returned to him, he laughed aloud, raising Marc from a half-slumber. _

"_What'd we do last night?"_

_Neil laughed harder._

"_I think we got Fabian a modelling job."_

"_Does he know?"_

"_No."_

"_How do we get him to _model_ then?" asked Marc, still somewhat asleep._

"_We'll think of something," replied Neil with an evil grin, swinging his legs out of bed. "You have a job. Bribe him, bet him, whatever... sneak him there in a body bag."_

"_I think I'll just go back to sleep."_

_Neil walked into the kitchen, and filled a glass of water. He took it back to the bedroom and poured it on his friend's head. Fabian really did have some good ideas._

"_Fabian!" yelled Marc._

"_No. Neil. Fabian's the Polish one."_

"_I hate you."_

"_Get up, have a painkiller, glass of water, coffee, breakfast, and help me plot."_

_Marc fell out of bed, "What is there for breakfast?"_

"_Um... there should be cold chicken from Thursday dinner. Cheese in the fridge? I'm sure you'll find something."_

_As Marc ate breakfast, Fabian entered, sweaty, having been running._

"_Cold chicken, Fabian?" offered Marc._

"_I stopped not far from here. Ate."_

"_Cheat."_

_Neil staggered, nude, from the shower, "Marc! Where're all my clothes?"_

"_I had them with the stale chicken... from five bleeding nights ago... Well, the boxers and socks... your mixer may be broken," he pointed at the rags of material stuck in a dismantled kitchen utensil. "The rest didn't taste so good, so I put it in the bin."_

"_Fabian, can I borrow some clothes?"_

_Fabian raised his eyebrows._

"_What does that mean?!"_

_Marc, laughing, said, "How long have you known the man for Neil? It means 'you puked on my shirt'."_

"_Okay, I'll run up and down the street nude." Neil headed for the door. "I wonder what I should yell? Of course making sure everyone knows I'm _related _to you two." Neil exited, grabbing something from the counter as he went._

_Marc looked at Fabian, "He's going to get himself arrested. He is honestly... where's my wallet?"_

_Fabian groaned, and then shrugged, and poured himself a glass of water, downed it, and poured another one. Marc stared on in disbelief._

"_Are you not the least bit concerned?! Aren't you –" he cut himself off, and coming to the conclusion that saving their dignity (and his money) was going to have to be done by himself, rushed out the door._

_-----_

Director Tomlin walked up behind Kathy, "What's that then, Special Agent Paris?"

"Um," A brief look of panic passed over Kathy's face, before, praying to the heavens she replied, "It's those cold case files you asked me to check over."

Tomlin glanced over at Fabian and Tony, both whom had taken this brief distraction as a chance to raise their heads from their work. "Oh, yes. Continue, Paris, I expect that on my desk before you go."

"Yes, Director."

"And I mean it. I want the _results of that research on my desk_."

Kathy groaned, "I will, Director, all of it in by seven, ma'am."

"Don't call me 'ma'am'." With that Tomlin walked off, smiling to herself. _Maybe I should pull Sawicki's file._

_-----_

_The issue resolved, much to the amusement of a group of teenagers who had been walking down the street, the trio set out for another day in New York. Neil hailed a taxi, fully dressed, but missing socks. "I smell like a trash can." Neither of his friends disagreed. _

"_Look, man," he said to the driver, "can you take us to this address?" He produced a crumpled napkin that he had taken great care of, or so he thought, with an address written on it in bleeding black ink. The driver tugged out a pair of reading glasses, glanced at it, and nodded. Fabian thought about asking after their destination, but knew, after four days of touring New York, that he would receive a cryptic and generally annoying answer. He waited. Eventually the car pulled to a stop outside a warehouse-type building, with a sign saying PWITF Inc. They climbed out of the taxi._

"_Do you need me to wait?" questioned the driver as Marc handed over money._

"_No," Neil answered hastily. "Go."_

_Fabian looked on suspiciously. The taxi left. Patrick, standing by the doorway, rushed over._

"_Master Fields! You made it, I wasn't sure..." gestured at the paper in his hands, a small article freshly printed, with a picture of a man running nude down a street. "My paper received this, it was added to page fifteen before printing. I was lucky enough to be able to name the gentleman on it." Neil reddened, before shrugging._

"_One of my colleagues holds a grudge."_

"_Yes," said Patrick with an understanding smile. "I know all about _that_. So, young man," he continued turning to Fabian, "are you ready for our shoot?"_

_Fabian looked at him in confusion, and then at Marc, in fits of silent laughter, and Neil, grinning broadly. He recognised this man. After fifteen seconds, Patrick growing more and more worried, he figured it out._

"_I think my friends have misled you."_

_Patrick whipped around to face the other two men, now laughing loudly, then back to Fabian. _

"_Ohh . . ."_

"_Fabian!" scolded Neil. "Come on . . ." his tone turned to wheedling. "You could model."_

"_No. Sorry for wasting your time, sir." He really did feel sorry for the man._

_Neil grabbed Marc's wallet from his pocket. _I must chain that to me, _thought Marc. Neil pulled out a bundle of notes. _

"_Fabian, I bet you . . . forty, fifty, sixty, seventy! Seventy dollars that you can not pull off a half-competent photo shoot."_

_Patrick saw an opportunity. "And of course you'll get paid the full amount. Two hundred dollars."_

_Fabian was tempted by the money, being completely broke, but he never would have gone for it if he didn't have what he considered a stunning idea. He, grudgingly, nodded. He was led inside. He smiled briefly at Patrick, who grinned back._

"_I'm _so _glad you've decided to do this! _You_ are going to be fantastic, I can tell! Come on, this is Edward, hair and make-up's over there, this is your first outfit, go, get ready!."_

_Fabian emerged with tousled looking hair, in jeans and a crisp white shirt. _Minus vomit, a miracle. _The 'set he was led to was completely white. Patrick looked at him critically. He unbuttoned the shirt one button further, and rolled up the sleeves to Fabian's elbows. _

"_Better." he announced._

_Fabian made a 'what now' gesture, and Patrick shooed him into the set. _

"_Try sitting on the floor, yes, now put the knee nearest me down, lean on your arm, rest the other on your leg, look at the camera."_

_Edward was taking the photos. The first couple fell flat, Fabian being rather uncomfortable with the whole thing, but came to the conclusion that for his plan to work, he would have to make an effort. Tilting his head slightly down, he peered up at the camera and smirked softly._

"_Perfect! Couple more like that, now stand, lean against the wall, stare off into the distance, like you were last night . . ."_

_Snap. Snap. Snap. Neil and Marc laughed continually on the sidelines, until Patrick glared at them and they shut up._

"_He's actually good at this," said Neil. "I'm going to have to give him your money."_

_Marc groaned. _

_After a few changes of outfit and scenery, Patrick finally declared their work done._

"_You're a natural, a natural. What name is it I should be yelling from the rooftops?"_

_Fabian glanced at Marc and Neil, making their way toward them, and quickly said._

"_Marc. Marc van Eeuwen." _

"_Well, Marc van Eeuwen, it's been a pleasure."_

_Fabian left to change, and returned with a neat bundle of clothes. He handed them to Patrick. _

"_You can keep the jacket," he said, handing it back, along with $200. _

_Fabian lay his hand on the older man's as he took the money._

"_Thank you, Mr Kennard. I had fun."_

"_Well, hopefully I'll see you around young man."_

_Fabian nodded, and smiled. He turned and walked away with Neil and Marc._

"_Flirt," said Neil._

_Fabian shrugged, smirking smugly. _

"_Did you _really_ enjoy it?!" asked Marc incredulously._

_Fabian turned a very rare, mega-watt grin on the man, as he took $70 from Neil._

"_You will find out how much."_

_He climbed into the waiting taxi and gave directions, leaving Neil and Marc behind._

_-----_

Kathy continued to dig further and further into Fabian's past and family, desperately trying to link in the photos. Fabian did not, would not, model. And yet he didn't have a twin. He had been in New York a few times, where PWITF were based, visiting a Neil Graeme Fields, but she couldn't find a way to link Mr. Fields to the company. Forgetting she was not alone, she banged her head off the keyboard.

"Kathy?" asked Tony.

_Screw it, _she thought. "Fabian," she said, turning her monitor, "is that you?"

"No," Fabian responded instinctively upon seeing the photo. _I hate technology. _That must have been how she found the damned thing.

"It looks _very _like you, Fab," said Tony with a grin. "_Very _like you."

"I thought maybe your b-"

"Martyn," he said, jumping on the opportunity.

"Ahh, OK, I see."

Kathy compiled all her research into a file, including a written note on Fabian's claim, and sent it to a faraway printer. She stood up. Tony looked at her questioningly.

"Bathroom," she said.

-----

_Returning from his run the next day, Fabian entered to find Marc yelling at a newspaper._

"_Upcoming Young Model: Marc van Eeuwen?!?!?!?! FABIAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"_

"_Agent – Neil Fields?!" added a _slightly_ less annoyed Neil._

_He chuckled. Wait until they found out he had asked Patrick to pass around Neil's home phone number._

_-----_

When Kathy left, Tony turned to Fabian.

"Modelling, Fab?"

He didn't bother to deny it, knowing he had been discovered.

"Sperm clinic, Gudek?"

"What?! How – ?!"

Kathy made her way up to Director Tomlin's office with the sheaf of papers. NCIS, Gdynia was not yet well staffed enough for the Director to have an assistant, so she just knocked and waited to be told to enter. Violet Tomlin smiled when she saw who it was.

"Thank you for earlier, Director."

"That's fine, Kathy."

"I ended up asking Fab about the photos," she confessed, "but I don't think either he or the Gudek linked it to the 'cold case files'."

"How did Sawicki explain it?"

"Said it was his brother, Martyn. It's all in there."

"And what conclusion have you reached?"  
"I've found nothing to suggest it is more likely Fabian than his brother, other than an 100% facial match, but he and Martyn look incredibly similar. The claim that it's Martyn Sawicki is . . . plausible."

"But you have doubts?"

The absurdity of the whole scenario hit Kathy at that moment, the way she was reporting to the Director about snooping on Fabian like she would a case. She bit her lip, but a giggle escaped. The Director laughed, and they were there for a while, just thinking how ridiculous it all was.

"Yes, I have doubts."

Violet gestured for Kathy to come around behind the desk.

"Let's have a look, what else is in here? Who's Neil Fields?"

"A friend of Fabian's in New York."

"And Marc van Eeuwen's the name the model used? It's not exactly something you think of on the spot."

She opened up a search engine, and entered the name, but all that appeared was articles about a mysterious, young, talented model, who did one photoshoot and disappeared off the face of the earth. He had become something of a media darling, and from the looks of it, had made PWITF a lot of money. She added 'Neil Graeme Fields' to the search. He had been 'van Eeuwan's' agent, so was mentioned in a lot of the articles too. Impatient, she flicked to the last page of the search, where she found a blog, entitled 'The Truth About Marc van Eeuwen: PLEASE READ'. She raised an eyebrow at Kathy, and clicked the link.

**This is Marc van Eeuwen, that is, the real Marc van Eeuwen, and I'm not the pretty boy in all the pictures. I'm writing this blog (hey, I'm helping!) ****with ****my friend (yes, not AGENT) Neil Fields (I'm gonna be in the brackets). Our **_**friend**_**, Fabian Sawicki, is the one you all know. He lied to the PWITF people (to get us back for pretending he was a model and booking him a job, admittedly) NOT the point, Neil. (sorry). For god's sake, stop phoning. I am not a model, and believe me when I say Fabian does not want to do any more modelling (well, unless it involves making us look like idiots) Shut up Neil. So that's the truth. STOP CALLING.**

The two women collapsed into hysterics. Violet Tomlin printed out all the pictures she could get her hands on of Fabian's photoshoot. She bundled them together, searched through a filing cabinet, and stuck them in Fabian's personnel file. Kathy caught her eye, and they collapsed again.

* * *

_Please review. _

_I have a challenge for everyone (or for anyone who wants to take it up). If you want to, write a chapter for this fic. Provided it matches my 'canon' ships, and I think it's believable (and you can see from this how loosely I define that) and in character, I'll post it. Please PM me if you're planning on giving it a go, so I can add you to my DocX connections. _


	14. Can I Give You A Piggyback?

_Disclaimer: Umm, we mention McGee at one point, and we don't own him._

_A/N: More Lucas/Tash silliness, i.e. Hannah/Hayley silliness, i.e. YouGottaSingAlong/OutCold silliness. Although we added in NCIS relevant stuff like a case. Sort of._

* * *

"Can I give you a piggyback?" Lucas grinned down, hopefully at Tash.

"No."

"Can I _please_ give you a piggyback, Tash?"

Tash took a deep breath, staring out to sea. She and Lucas were 'looking for evidence' while Jamey did the sketch and shoot and McGee intimidated people.

"No."

"Why not?" Lucas moaned.

"I don't want a piggyback, Lucas."

"Why not?"

"I don't like piggybacks."

She continued to not look at him, but the irritation shone through her tone.

"Why not? Why don't you like piggybacks?"

"Because I don't like being carried. Is that a cigarette butt?"

"I could give you a fireman's lift," Lucas continued. "Can I give you a fireman's lift?"

"I don't like being carried does not only apply to piggybacks. Can you get me an evidence bag?"

"Can I give _you _a piggyback?"

"No. Give me an evidence bag, Skywalker, _now_."

"I could tackle you."

She grabbed the waiting bag from his hands and picked up the cigarette end.

"You could, but then you would die a horrible, painful death."

"Oh, the British charm of it- Now does that mean I can give you a piggyback?"

"_No,_" she said firmly and then muttered (hopefully inaudibly). "At least he's not singing."

Lucas _chose_ to ignore both the firm and the comment, continuing once more. "I played rugby, did you know that? I'm a very good tackler."

"I specialised in martial arts, did you know that? I'm very good at causing pain."

"I specialised in Boredom and Alleviating Through Irritation of Others, now can I give you a piggyback?"

"No, Lucas, now would you concentrate on looking for . . . there's no evidence. Let's head back."

"I'll piggyback you there." Lucas grinned, ever hopeful.

"No. Nein. Non. Nr."

"Negative." Lucas helpfully added. "If I damaged you, would I be permitted to piggyback you back?"

"At this rate, I would rather elbow crawl."

"Can I give you a piggyback now then?"

"N. O. No."

"I failed English. What does N-O spell again? Is it 'you may give me a piggyback'?"

"Close. You're missing one word. It's 'you may _not _give me a piggyback'."

"That's seven words. I used six, then you added one and gave me _seven_."

"I thought I'd give you the word you were missing in the full sentence, what with your difficulties with the English language and all."

"You're the one who types double 'F's on words. Now can I give you a piggyback, O Glorious Vocation Misser?"

"I make one typo, and you never let me forget it. You make them all the time! And, NO."

"My fucking Ts screwed. At least I sort mine out before I hand over the keyboard."

"I wasn't looking at the screen."

"You typed screem, once, instead of screen, if my memory serves my right... Now, _pleeeeeaaaaase_ can I give you a piggyback?"

"If your memory serves your right? No, and what's with the piggyback thing, anyway?"

"I be bored, Tashikins. Please, please, please..." Tash rolled her eyes, looking away at the very second Lucas dived for her legs. He glanced up from hauling her onto his back. " 'Lo, Boss."

* * *

_So, reviews?_

_**Wasn't Lucas brave? Look at that, he called Tash, 'Tashikins'. Will Lucas Logan survive? Find out in the next instalment of... well... Tash/Lucas silliness. (I'm alive aren't I???)**_


	15. There Were Other Jobs: Fabian S

_Disclaimer: Own Fabian, Richards and Roza. Part own Director Tomlin. No own Tony._

_A/N: This is basically how Fabian went from the Polish Anti-Terrorism Department to NCIS._

* * *

Fabian Sawicki walked out the door of the Polish Anti-Terrorism department, a slight bounce in his step, a slight smile on his face, both so small that no one else would notice, but he felt the difference in himself. _So this is what it feels like to be unemployed. _He had reached breaking point, a stage where he could no longer cope with his job. Mainly because of Roza. She had arrived a few months before it had happened, to work as an analyst, and he had got on well with her, because she didn't ask annoying questions – 'why don't you talk', 'are you always so unfriendly' and so on – or babble on incessantly. Fabian's circle consisted of only a few, carefully chosen friends, but in a short time she had become one of them. A memory came to mind, he didn't know what prompted it.

_Roza entered his office and perched on his desk_

"_Fabian . . .?"_

_He looked up._

"_Would you consider me a friend?"_

_He nodded, slowly, warily. She grinned._

"_Good."_

"_Good?"_

_She looked sheepish._

"_I need someone to take care of my dog on Saturday," she explained._

_Reaching forward slowly, she shoved her off his desk._

"_Hey!"_

_He smirked._

"_So does that mean you'll do it?"_

_He rolled his eyes, and she leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes with great gravity._

"_If you feed him enough, he might not bite you."_

_She took her laptop from the bag slung over her shoulder and opened it up, sitting down to her work, and neither said a word for about three hours._

They had needed an analyst to go and do some work in another branch that they were co-ordinating with for the day, and she had offered. There was an attack on the building. She didn't survive it. Fabian had tried to go on with his work, but he soon realised that he couldn't really handle it anymore. He left, and no one was really surprised. He would soon have to worry about getting work, but he wasn't too concerned. There was always somewhere, and he was sure some people would write him glowing references. There were others that he would never ask.

As it happened, he didn't have to job hunt as much as he feared. A struggling local branch of NCIS had been asking around, and his old boss had recommended him. The interview was fun – he'd done it with the deputy director. The man looked like he wanted to think of himself as hard, Fabian had already decided to mess around with him a bit, there were other jobs.

"You're Fabian Sawicki?"

Very slight nod.

"All right, Mr Sawicki, would you say you are fully qualified for this post?"

Raised eyebrow.

"Answer the questions," said the man, but he was met with only a patronising smile. "Why do you want to work at NCIS?"

Small shrug. And so on. Director Tomlin entered as her deputy finally lost his cool, standing up, banging his fists on the table emitting a stream of swear words to an unflinching Fabian.

"Good," Fabian glanced at the clock, showing just past twelve, "afternoon, Director Tomlin," he said, standing to shake her hand.

"Richards?" she asked her deputy. "What's he like?"

"He doesn't speak."

"He just did," she pointed out.

"He's aggressive."

Fabian snorted slightly. Tomlin smirked.

"The man has a point, Richards. You were the one being aggressive."

"He shows no interest in the post, the agency, or any apparent desire for the job, he seems entirely indifferent."

She considered this.

"And I don't like him," her deputy finished.

"Well, that's good enough for me. When can you start, Mr. Sawicki?"

By the time Fabian had begun, a week later, Deputy Director Richards had resigned.

-----

After Richards had stormed out, Director Tomlin sat down with Fabian and discussed the finer points. He would work under an agent more experienced in crime investigation, a transfer from Washington D.C. by the name of Anthony DiNozzo. The instant he got home, he made a call.

"Fabian! It's been a while. Who do you need the dirt on?"

"Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS, D.C."

"And you don't even attempt to pretend you're not using me for information."

"How are you, Mike?" tried Fabian, inserting as much sarcasm into his voice as he could.

"No, you're right, it doesn't suit you. NCIS, NCIS, NCIS . . . sorry, I don't know much about the guy, but I can tell you who might give you some info though. It would involve a little bluffing and a little lying."

There was silence the other end of the phone. Mike began to talk.

-----

"Sciuto's Lab Of All Things Weird And Wonderful, how can I help you?"

"Abigail Sciuto? This is Deputy Director Richards calling from NCIS, Gdynia."

"Oh! It's Tony you want to talk to. I, unlike everyone else in the world, am staying, _right _here. You know it'll only be me and McGee and Palmer left? But, yeah, I'll find Tony for you."

"Actually, Miss Sciuto,"

"Ugh, Abby, please."

"Abby. I was hoping to talk to anyone _but _Agent DiNozzo. The thing is, I'll be working rather closely to him, and I was hoping for a bit of . . ." he laughed, as though he thought what he was doing was ridiculous, "oh, I don't know really, just to know basically what he's like."  
Fabian's vocal chords felt oddly well exercised. This was why he hated phones.

"Tony's great, I mean, he's really great. He's great at his job, and he's so dedicated though he acts like he's not but we all see through him because he's _Tony, _y'know? He likes to joke around, but he only pretends that he's lazy and not working, and he, well, are you giving him someone to boss around? Of course you are. Because they're likely to be dubbed 'Probie' or some form thereof, and God forbid their name start with "Mc". But yeah, Tony rocks, he can be a little annoying, well, not to me, but people say he can be annoying, but I don't think so, you just need to sort of get him, to know him well, he can take some getting used to – but he's awesome and I love him and you're going to love him too and he's going to be amazing . . ."

And she went on, and on, and on. It was everything Fabian had hoped for and more. He liked to be the best-informed person in the room.

-----

The two men sized each other up, and Violet Tomlin watched with interest how they reacted to one another. Eventually, DiNozzo extended a hand.

"Anthony DiNozzo, call me . . ." hi trailed off. "Boss" was Gibbs, and "DiNozzo" was what Gibbs called him, it made Tony think of how it must feel to decide what your grandchildren should call you.

"Gudek?" asked Fabian.

"Yeah, Gudek works great, doesn't it? You're Fabian Sawicki, what should I call you?"

Fabian lifted his shoulders.

"I'll play it by ear, shall I?"

This drew a slight smile. After a while, Tomlin had to interrupt.

"I have a case for you guys. Dead Petty Officer."

The two men headed down to the garage, Fabian automatically going around to the driver's side. Tony, grinning, whacked him over the head. Fabian looked round in mild surprise.

"I drive."

It was good to be boss.

-----

Tony began to get up, then turned to the Sawicki bloke.

"Coffee . . ." he stopped himself from making up a nickname, he couldn't think of one to suit the guy. Maybe an abbreviation . . . "Coffee, Fab?" Yeah, it worked.

Fab shook his head. Tony was surprised – coming from a team were turning down someone's offer to go out and buy coffee for you was unheard of. Fabian saw his confusion, and decided to throw his new boss a bone – a whole four-word sentence.

"I don't drink coffee."

Tony's eyes widened in shock. _What have I got myself into?_

* * *

_Reviews?_


	16. Apologise To The CafPow!: T McGee

_Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognise from the show._

_A/N: I was amazed that I got [just] over 1000 words out of this! This is pretty much the original idea behind Time Flies. Really, really weird how it grew._

* * *

McGee could stay up all night thinking about his team. All-nighters were not new to him, for years he'd been up until, or past, dawn, tapping away at his computer or typewriter keys, thinking up the next twist for his story, or on an online game, always just thinking – I'll go to bed in a minute, I'll go to bed in a minute, until it got to about five in the morning and he still couldn't stand the thought of sleep and decided to stop kidding himself. But the twenty-four hour or over stints had become more common since he became a Supervisory Special Agent. He could sit in his chair, planning to write, or read, and just sit and remember the day, laughing at all the things that he couldn't show his amusement at when they had happened, deciphering the conversations he'd walked in on the ends of, figuring out the motives for actions – they were all, the three of them, an author's dream, and he remembered with a smile thinking the same thing when he'd been a probie on Gibbs' team. Lucas had, so far, loyally kept the secret of 'Thom E. Gemcity', perhaps being a friend, perhaps thinking he could use it to blackmail his boss, probably both, but McGee knew it would eventually come out. After the first time, he was prepared, and didn't really care anymore. When they found out, they might be angry, but, he grinned to himself, he was their superior. It wasn't a free pass, but it did help on the 'avoiding torture' side of things. He thought of all the superglue, teasing, and undoubtedly increased headslap count with a kind of nostalgic way, and most likely through rose-tinted spectacles. There was no way he'd found any of those things so funny at the time. Tony and Ziva had definitely not found the way he viewed their relationship entertaining. He grimaced at the thought. Older, more experienced, and, at least he liked to think, wiser, Thom E. Gemcity was avoiding making the same mistake twice, and so was McGee, forcing himself to think of Tony and Ziva and how nothing was ever how it seemed with them when he looked at Lucas and Tash. He hoped Lucas would tell him if something ever did happen with Tash, though he didn't rely on it, and he hoped he would notice a shift in their relationship. He didn't think Jamey got quite as rough a treatment as he had from Tony, but he was glad and he trusted Lucas to give her the teasing that was part of being a probie, as well as making her feel like part of the team. He liked to teach the rules, but not too much. It made him feel like some sort of prophet. "And the Lord says that thou shall carry a knife at all times". It was nice to have Abby and Jim downstairs, people he viewed as 'from the beginning', and then there was Lucas – 'sort of from the beginning'. He remembered a scene from that day.

_He had sent Tash and Lucas to collect evidence on the beach, mainly to get them and their bickering as far away from him as possible. They'd taken forever, and since Jamey and he had finished up, he had somewhat reluctantly set out to find them. He arrived in time to see Lucas tackling Tash to the ground, before noticing him and giving a greeting of, "'Lo, boss."_

"_Logan?"_

_"Oh, we were just looking _very_ closely for evidence," Lucas said with a grin as Tash pulled herself up off the ground and dusted sand off her body. She shot him the evil eye._

"_I will _kill _you, Logan," she hissed before stalking away, already planning her revenge._

_Lucas grimaced._

"_Be scared, Luke," McGee had laughed._

"_Oh, trust me boss, I am. But it was entirely, wonderfully worth it."_

McGee could only guess at what had preceded this, and wasn't sure he wanted to know, but one thing he was certain of – Tash's revenge would not be pretty at all. He looked at the clock, which read about three in the morning. A few more minutes couldn't hurt.

-----

The exhaustion hit around eight, and McGee downed the rest of his coffee cup, blinking rapidly.

"Late night, boss?" winked Lucas.

He shot a glare that clearly meant 'I am _not _in the mood today'. Standing, he made his way down to Abby's lab, detouring only for two CafPow!s.

"McGee!" she exclaimed on seeing him. "I don't need two, but . . ."

He took a swig of the second, looking at her pointedly. She grinned, eyes sparkling, and threw herself at him while grabbing the second.

"Yay! I was worried now that you're all grown up you'd feel to old for CafPow!" She clambered off him and drank hers, then realisation hit. "That's why you're down here – you _are _embarrassed! McGee, you're a traitor to CafPow!s. How are they meant to grow confidence if no one accepts them as a caffeinated drink?"

"Abby – the dog, I understand. The stuffed hippo, I sort of get. The mould, was a little creepy. But you cannot do this about a drink."

She gasped in horror.

"Shame on you, McGee!" she said, reaching up to clench Bert to one side, and her CafPow! to the other. "Out!" she ordered.

"Abby, I didn't mean . . ." he desperately backtracked.

"Well . . . you can stay . . . if you apologise to the CafPow!"

McGee began to snort with laughter, but soon got that she was serious and glanced back at the door. He really didn't want to go back to the bullpen until he was on his caffeine buzz, but this was . . . he sighed and addressed his cup.

"I'm sorry I suggested that because you're an inanimate object, namely, a _drink_, that you wouldn't have feelings."

Abby giggled.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Timmy," she said, but she let him stay.

* * *

_I love McGee as a boss. Not to mention Abby cutting him down. Reviews?_


	17. We Are One: Tash P, Jamey M, Lucas L

_Disclaimer: Umm . . . I don't own the Beatles, or an IMing thing. _

_A/N: Thanks to YouGottaSingAlong, for playing the part of Jamey in this one, and to CheerChickx, for unwittingly playing the part of Lucas. Hopefully this should clear stuff up a bit. I'd like to mention this is abbreviated. It was a looooonnnng convo and the thing wasn't letting me cut and paste. Blah._

* * *

Lucas, Tash and Jamey had gone out after work to celebrate closing a case, the end of the week, whatever. Just to celebrate. They hit a few bars and clubs, and eventually the girls were tipsy, and Lucas was . . . smashed. They helped him into his house and sat him in his living room, where he insisted he would be fine, so Tash invited Jamey to hers. When there, they logged onto the computer, to find Lucas was also on, and opened an IMing window. They talked generically for a while, until Lucas realised he didn't have a clue who he was babbling to.

**Lucas: So who am I actually talking to**

**Lucas:?**

**Tash: ****uh, me**

Jamey smirked and called Tash from the other side of the room to see. Tash laughed.

**Lucas: who?**

**Tash: ME!**

**Lucas: Jamey or Tash?**

Jamey pondered how to respond.

"Say 'yes'," suggested Tash.

"That's a good one," she chuckled as she typed.

**Tash: Yes**

**Lucas: or neither? piss off you guys. enough of your practical jokes**

**Tash: no**

**Lucas: yes**

"What practical jokes?" Tash asked Jamey in mock confusion.

**Tash: what practical jokes?**

**Lucas: Is it Tash?**

**Tash: it's all a matter of perception**

Halfway through the sentence they changed who typed.

**Lucas: huuuuuuuhhhh? don't go all fancy talk on mw**

**Lucas: *me**

The girls glanced at each other, saying at the same time,

"He's _so _drunk."

**Tash: perception: how you veiw things**

**Tash: *view**

**Lucas: so who the hell is it then**

**Lucas: ?**

"Jamey or Tash," grinned Tash.

**Tash: Well, it's me, Jamey or Tash**

**Lucas: Jamey**

**Tash: or Tash**

**Lucas: no, i mean can i speak to jamey?**

Tash, although she wasn't typing, said, "Who says he isn't already?"

Jamey shook her head in amusement.

**Tash: well, you might already be**

**Lucas: yes, true, but can i speak to tash without jamey?**

**Tash: but who says one is not the other?**

**Lucas: okay then, can i speak to jamey without tash?**

**Tash: who says the other is not one?**

**Lucas: I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHAT THE HELL THAT MEANS!**

Lucas yelled the words that he wrote, slamming on the side of his sofa.

**Tash: Who says one is not the other, who says the other is not one. You can't ask to speak to one of, because you don't know which of us you're already speaking to. **

**Lucas: Ah**

**Tash: Ah indeed**

Lucas tried another tack.

**Lucas: Well, how do you know who I am**

**Lucas: ????**

**Tash: because there is but one of you**

**Lucas: How do you know?**

Jamey nicked the keyboard from Tash.

**Tash: yet there are plural of me**

**Tash: because I, being we, being both of us, being I, know you well enough to know who you are**

**Lucas:**** But how do you know? I might have a friend over, or I might be a friend.**

**Tash: ****see previous, my friend**

"Damn!" exclaimed Jamey. "I should have said 'but you _are_ a friend'".

**Lucas: Kill me now**

**Tash: which one of us?**

**Lucas: whoever one is talking**

**Tash: but we could both be talking or none of us**

**Tash: or in fact just one of us**

"Both of us, or none of us, or in fact just one of us," muttered Tash to herself.

**Lucas: None of you?!?! That makes no sense**

**Tash: both of us are none of us, or in fact just one of us**

**Tash: I am she and she is me. We are we**

**Lucas: Okay**

**Tash: And we're all together coo coo cachoo**

"What?" Tash asked Jamey.

"The Beatles."

**Lucas: I know fine well it's both of you**

**Tash: I am The Walrus. We are the Walrus.  
We Are Borg.  
And now we, or me, or she is now into cultural references.  
We are one**

**Lucas: You are both there**

**Tash: One of two  
Or two of two  
But which of two  
?**

**Lucas: Yes, I know it's both, don't lie.**

**Tash: It may be one.  
One may have left.  
**

"That's my cue to leave," said Jamey to Tash with a wicked smile.

Tash grinned and continued to reply in abstract answers to Lucas, involving lots of 'we, or she, or me', Lucas guessed a few times at who it was, his general idea being that they were taking shifts. Eventually he told her they were being mean and if they didn't say who it was, he was leaving. Now tired, she let him.

Tash grinned as she got herself ready for bed. The next day was going to be so much fun.

* * *

_Reviews, anyone? Comments, Rach?_


	18. Walking And Walking And Walking: Tash P

_Disclaimer: I don't own the NCIS._

_A/N: So this doesn't quite follow Tash till she reaches NCIS, but I don't know. I just started writing it, and didn't even know what I was writing till about three quarters of the way into the first paragraph._

* * *

She walked and walked and walked and the rain fell down and down and down. Beating against the pavement and she just kept walking through it and through it even though the rain had soaked through her t-shirt and trousers and shoes and she just kept walking because she didn't know how to stop, and she didn't even know where she was going but if she stopped walking she was going to break down and if she did she didn't think she could ever get up again. And she didn't even realise she was crying until she felt the hot water mixing with the cold on her cheeks and then she couldn't stop herself and she just kept walking and walking and walking and crying and crying and crying and the rain fell down and down and down. It briefly crossed her mind that the people in the cars whizzing by with their lights shining through the rain must think she was mad just walking in a thin t-shirt with the rain pouring on her and her hair clinging to her face but she really couldn't bring herself to care.

_Natasha Paul had always secretly harboured a desire to work at SIS. She couldn't bear to tell her parents about it, they would worry so much for her safety, but from a young age she would scan the website, take the virtual tour, read about the different jobs available, take little tests, secretly hunching over the family computer, or later, her laptop, with another window or tab open just in case someone walked up behind her. She confided solely in her little sister, Lucy, and they would sit up on Tash's bed at night sometimes talking about it in hushed tones by torchlight, hoping their parents were asleep. Tash did martial arts, and was the sort of child who spied on people a lot, just because she could. She would listen outside the door as her parents planned birthday or Christmas presents, sneak into the school at lunchtime to rifle through her teacher's desk so she knew her test score early (though sometimes, she would avoid hers because she was too worried about the test, and just read everyone else's), she would read her friends diaries, and not feel guilty about it (leading her to slightly question her morality), she would stand near people talking, even if the conversation wasn't that interesting, just because it wasn't for her ears. She remembered hearing her parents and their friends at a dinner party complimenting her. Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves. Pah! Although, she'd heard plenty bad of herself too, to even it out. She didn't understand people who said they wouldn't want to read minds because they weren't sure they'd want to hear what others thought of them. Good, bad, about her, not about her, Tash wanted to know it all._

She wasn't sure how long she'd been going on like this just walking and walking and walking, but she knew it had been dusk and it was now night, and she knew the streetlight beams fanning out over the layer of water on the ground and the car headlights flashing by were the only reason she could see and she knew was still crying, the tears pouring out of their own accord like a flood, and she was glad for the rain because she could pretend to herself she thought her face was only wet because of it.

_After she finished school, she took a year out travelling, and gathered what she thought of as useful life experience from it. She was certainly less naïve than she had been before. She went to university in Glasgow, taking a BA (Hons) in Journalism and International Relations, as well as keeping up with her martial arts training. All this, along with a job, or various jobs, to allow her to survive made the four years she spent at university incredibly hard work. In her final year, she applied to SIS. After the interviews, which she was only allowed to tell her close family she was having, and the long, in-depth vetting, she was delighted when she was offered a job. She broke the news to her parents then, her mother stormed off and didn't come back for two hours, then didn't mention it again. Tears came to her father's eyes, and he hugged her and told her to be careful. Lucy, twenty at the time, gave her a secretive smile and a wink.  
The training was hard, but she got through it, thrilled to living her long-held dream. Most of the people were welcoming, the facilities were fantastic, above all, the job was fulfilling. After not too long, she began to be sent on overseas assignments, she had a, for the most part, admirable record, with only a few blemishes, stupid, probie mistakes that she tried her best to ignore. Her boss, Robert Kyle, became more like a friend, over time, and was someone she deeply respected. She learnt Arabic (with some difficulty) and the basic computer skills she needed, though she wholeheartedly preferred to rely on those she trusted not to blow the stupid machines up. Lucy followed her footsteps, sort of, except she became one of those people. Tash had wondered if she'd resent working her younger sister, but she'd found herself enjoying it, and very proud of Lucy._

She felt the chill beginning to creep through her bones but she couldn't stop pushing herself forward even though she wasn't even sure where she was anymore. She couldn't think of anything she was more scared of right now than stopping because once she'd stopped she would have to think what to do and she couldn't think, not right now, and the tears, slowing from their angry rush at long last turned to sobs, and she bit her lip so as not to make any noise and took one step and another and another because she just couldn't stop, not now, not yet.

_And then it had all just come crashing down. Lucy was gone, she had ran away, a disk full of the nations secrets in her grasp, and Tash couldn't stand to think about it but she had to because it was her sister out there, her baby sister, and she couldn't believe it was true but the evidence was irrefutable, and all of a sudden Lucy was a terrorist and all her friends looked at her accusingly, as if they were wondering if she were too, and she didn't even care because this was Lucy and they just needed to find her, just needed to find her __**now. **__And she could see Robert Kyle was wondering if she should be allowed to help, and she'd begged him, just short of falling to her knees, asked him to trust her and he said just until they found her and she'd never been more grateful. The day had been the most maddening and hectic of her life. Robert had stuck by her side the whole time, partly out of kindness, partly out of suspicion. It was a strange combination. She had killed three people, and broken several bones before an assassin hired by the terrorist group that had apparently recruited Lucy just before she'd joined SIS, had given up a potential location in return for a deal if it worked out, and through fear for his life when he looked into Tash's eyes. Eventually it had boiled down to her and Robert and Lucy, the first two with their guns on the third, the third glancing between the first two with wild eyes.  
"Lucy," she had pleaded. "Lucy for God's sake just come over here, this can all end now, _please_."_

_Lucy's eyes had continued to dart around, then fixed on Tash. Slowly, agonisingly, she had shaken her head, and her hand flew to her mouth. Tash ran toward her as she fell to the ground, frothing at the mouth, staring upward blankly as her sister desperately tried to save her.  
Robert had gently taken her by the arm and led her back, where he explained what she had known all along – she would have to be questioned. She survived the interrogation simply through shutting off and blankly answering the questions, and then when they told her she could go she didn't bother to collect anything, even a coat, just walked out with everyone staring at her and kept on walking._

A car pulled up beside her, she picked up her pace, but a man from it ran after her and grabbed her shoulder, she span, and Robert stood before her. She turned away again and kept walking, but he grabbed her again and pulled her round. He held her firmly to him and the rain beat down over both of them. She sobbed into him, shaking in his arms and he just held her very, very tight until she became still and relaxed.

"Thanks, boss."

He smiled gently.

"Not a problem, Paul, now get in the damned car before you die of pneumonia."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

_So how about a few reviews? Pretty please?_


	19. I Just Can't Wait To Be King: DC Team

_Disclaimer: I don't own the general NCIS idea, McGee, Disney or any of it's songs, the Progues, any 50s classics, YouTube, I own an iPod, but I don't own Apple, I don't own Wicked or Kristin Chenoweth, and I think that's it for this chapter._

_A/N: OK, this is just one of those random things that actually happened with me and my friends. It's really short, but I quite like it. At least, it seemed funny while I was on a sugar high. So, for the purposes of this. OutCold – Jamey. YouGottaSingAlong – Lucas. OzBabe – Tash. CheerChickx – McGee. So thanks to all you guys, everyone go check out their stuff._

* * *

Jamey sat on the floor, her laptop on her knees. Lucas was next to her in the same position, while McGee and Tash were sitting up at a desk. It was an informal set up, but they were all catching up on paperwork, orders from Vance to McGee.

"_Tim, if you and your team do not get up to date on your work, I will give it to you as HOMEWORK."_

"_What is this, Leon, a high school?"_

_Leon sighed, put on his glasses and looked down at the file in front of him, murmuring, "Only when you force me to be a principal."_

Lucas, stunned at McGee's lack of musical knowledge, had begun to play 50s classics from YouTube.

"What does everyone want to hear next? . . . No, wait, I know what I'm going to play next!"

He began to click furiously.

_Let's get down to business,_

_To defeat the Hun,_

_Did they send me daughters,_

_When I asked for sons?_

Tash laughed. "I _love _this song!"

McGee lowly chuckled. Lucas, Tash and Jamey began to sing along, all but Tash out of tune. When they strained their ears, they could even make out McGee lowly humming the words to himself. Lucas made his way through several Disney songs, and when it reached 'I Just Can't Wait To Be King', McGee tugged out his iPod.

"If you're going to listen to this, I'm going to listen to my music."

There was an outcry of babbled protestations, built around the basic principle of 'you don't like Disney songs?!'.

"I do," McGee eventually said defensively, "but this music helps me work!"

"If you are going to be musically unsociable, I am going to inflict this on your team," Lucas joked, beginning to type something into the YouTube search bar. "You are a cruel person, boss."

"What?" asked McGee, tugging out a headphone. "Was someone talking to me?"

"I said you're being musically unsociable."

"I'm listening to music, how is that musically unsociable?"

The three chorused, almost but not quite in unison, "You're not listening to the same music as everyone else!

Jamey had no doubt that over the next few days . . . or weeks McGee would subtly make them pay for ganging up on him, but the light air of camaraderie was too much to resist.

"Wait, Lucas, what are you going to make us listen to?!" Jamey panicked.

She leant over his laptop. 'Drunken Boat' by The Progues began to blare. Jamey groaned, and went back to her case report. As the song began to draw to an end, Lucas looked at her sympathetically.

"What do you want to listen to next, Jamey?"

She looked up excitedly.

"Umm, do you have stuff from Wicked on that?" she laughed and shook her head. "You're on YouTube, of course you do. 'Popular' then. I haven't heard that for ages."

"Which version?"

"Any, you choose."

After much deliberation he decided to go simply with the classic – Kristin Chenoweth. Jamey rested her head against the wall, giving a satisfied sigh. "I want to go see this again."

"Yeah, the new cast looks pretty good."

Jamey turned to Lucas after about ten minutes.

"I was trying to note this down for Kate's fanfic, the 'Killing Time' one, but the fun-ness runs out after a while."

Lucas looked up at McGee and Tash, diligently working.

"Yeah, it does."

* * *

_In case anyone didn't get it, "Killing Time" is Kate's version of this._

_Reviews? _


	20. Auld Lang Syne: Ducky M and Emily P

_Disclaimer: Look, do we really have to do this?_

_A/N: For Tiva4evaxxx, because she's hopefully not going to complain that her name has been stolen. Sorry, Em._

_A/N2: CHAPTER 20!!!_

* * *

Emily Peakes rushed about her house, keeping an internal monologue as she went. _I believe 'headless chicken' is the phrase. _She remembered just as she took a step out the door that she should probably eat breakfast, and ran back inside to pour dry cereal into a small tub, scooping parts into her mouth with her fingers as she tried to lock her door. She bundled herself into her car, a run down and bashed black Ford C-Max, and threw her things about the car. "Crap, crap, crap, I'm late, late, late, late . . ." She pulled out of the driveway violently, narrowly missing the gatepost she had bashed so many times before, leaving a permanent dent in her back left bumper. "Shit, shit, shit." The Wisconsin born sixty-six year old archaeologist was well aware she was over the speed limit, but continued to press on the accelerator. _Late, late, late, I'm not going _that_ fast. _The train of thought continued as she kept scooping cereal into her mouth, and dropping it around her car, as she rummaged through her bag for her security pass, and realised she should have her hands on the wheel. Through a miracle, Emily and her car arrived unharmed at the conference hall that was being used for the Virginia Archaeology Convention, at which she was meant to be a keynote speaker, her slot starting in . . . a minute. Damn. She rushed behind the stage.

"Em-i-ly, darling, you are on in _. . . . now!_"

Patrick Kennard, the event organiser shooed her out onto the stage, not giving her time to catch her breath or put down her cereal. She sat the near empty tub behind the lectern, hoping no one would notice.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Virginia . . ."

She relaxed once she got into her flow and managed to subtly extract her notes from her pocket. She talked about her most recent dig, about historical archaeology, and eventually how archaeology could be of use in criminal investigations. For this she used a case that a friend had told her about as an example, where the body of a missing man and suspected serial killer had been found in a chimney on a marine base. At this she noticed a man at the front smile. She closed up, thanked her audience, and left the stage with relief. She forced her way past Patrick, ("Ex-tra-ord-in-ary, Emily, extraordinary!") and managed to reach the lobby before she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

"Excuse me?"  
She turned to see the man from the audience, who had smiled during her crime section. He handed her cereal tub to her.

"I think you left this behind," he said kindly.

She exhaled deeply. "Thank you. I'm a bit of a mess this morning."

"Well, I thought you did very well."

"Thank you. Again."

They talked while he walked with her to her car, which he looked at with horror.

"Problem, Dr Mallard?"

"Not at all, my dear."

She saw him glance at the gleaming Morgan parked beside her. "Is that yours?" she asked.

"Well . . . yes, it is, Miss Peakes."

"Don't be embarrassed, Doctor, I'm just not a car person."

"Call me Ducky, please."

"Ducky," she laughed. "Well, if you insist. But only if you'll stop calling me Miss Peakes."

"Well, then, _Emily, _would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow night?"

"You move fast, Ducky."

"I'm retired, my dear, what else am I going to do?"

She laughed.

"I would love to join you for dinner tomorrow night. Here, I'll just give you my number."

-----

The way their relationship progressed was very traditional, or so Emily viewed it, but there was something very sweet in the way Ducky insisted on being proper, the way he always treated her very like a lady – even when she was rushing in from work, bedraggled from rain, make up smeared, 'a complete disaster zone' as she put it. He proposed to her at a dinner, after he'd taken her to a ballet. They didn't spend very long engaged, there was a constant thought in the backs of both their heads – we should do this today, we might not have tomorrow. The wedding was small – some of Emily's friends and the NCIS team, plus Abby, Palmer and his new assistant, William Chang. Gibbs was Ducky's best man. The entourages of both the bride and groom viewed their friend's wedding as long overdue. Gibbs spent the whole service with a badly hidden smile, breaking out into a grin once or twice, glad to be able to do for Ducky what Ducky had done three times for him.

-----

Emily woke up, and pulled herself reluctantly out of bed, donning a dressing gown to make her way to the kitchen. Ducky was already there, cooking, smiling. She grinned at him, bleary eyed, and yawned, "Mornin', beautiful." It was a running joke between them, and she couldn't even remember how it had started anymore.

"Good morning."

She ate with him, and stepped outside, took a seat on their patio, closing her eyes and leaning back.

There was a brief pain, and that was all.

-----

"I'm so sorry sir. All I can say is that she wouldn't have suffered."

"Sudden cardiac death, I know damn well what would have happened."

The doctor looked taken aback. Felicity shot Gibbs an imploring look, and he tentatively lay a hand on Ducky's shoulder.

"It'll be alright, Duck."

-----

Four years after Emily died, a crowd gathered at her widower's funeral. Gibbs took the podium.

"Ducky was one of my closest friends, always someone I knew I could go to with anything, someone who'd put me on the right track when I was being pig-headed or stupid. He stood beside me through some of the most difficult times of my life, and helped me enjoy some of the best. He was always able to forgive, useful, considering the number of things he had to forgive me for, and undoubtedly the wisest and kindest person I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Donald Mallard lived a full and rich life, he took pleasure in many things, from tea to theatre, his work, mostly though, he loved a good story." He laughed. "And god knows, he had a few of his own. I'm very proud to have been part of some of them . . ." his voice cracked. "I'll miss you, Duck."

-----

**Here lies Donald "Ducky" Mallard (83).**

**Beloved husband of the late Emily Mallard.**

**Dear friend of many.**

**A sympathetic ear, a fountain of good advice.**

'**_We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,_**

_**For auld lang syne.'**_

* * *

_Little guilt trip here – review for Ducky!_


	21. Swearing: Terry JS

_**A/N: This is just a short, random pointless ficlet introducing you a little to Terry, Abby's lab assistant.**_

Terry John Smith ran up the stairs to his loft flat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Bollocks, shitty, bollocks. Damnitty damn damn." He swore vehemently, as he tripped up on the overturned carpet. "Fuck this bloody carpet. Fuck this bloody flat and those bloody bills and-" He crashed into the ceiling. "_Fuck_."

Terry spent a few seconds looking at the tiny window. "I hate Washington."

"I'd be careful of saying that in America, my friend."

Terry turned in the pitch black to peer at the voice. "Who the hell are you?"

A hand groped for the light switch, and a dim bulb appeared a foot above in the hall. "Lonnie Pitch. I'm a student." He explained, as Terry peered into the other man's flat. "That's why I'm in this dump."

"I'm a federal employee… that's why I'm living in this dump. Oh, and because I burst my bank as I didn't have medical insurance when I basically broke every bone in my body… well, actually just my carpals, metacarpals, ulna, humerus, clavicle, phalanges, fibula, calcaneus, talus, and my lateral cuneiform bone… I was run over by a car then a bike."

"Are you a medical… federal dude?"

"Oh, not really, I work in forensics. But I get obsessed… with things."

"Ah, do you… y'know, want some ice for that bump? I think my electricity might be on…"

"Thanks mate. I might take you up on the ice some other day, but I was only nipping home to grab some tea bags then head back out. Duty calls."

-------

Abby stood, hands on hips, waiting for Terry to walk through the door, a lump forming on his brow, "You're late."

Terry chose to argue, "I'm three hours early, Doctor Back."

"You're late."

Terry pitied the woman's husband, "Yes, Doctor. I'm sorry."

"Be on time next… time."

Terry looked at her. "That's odd…"

"What?"

Terry watched the three women bearing down on him, saying words. What were those words? It was odd, he thought he felt a little dizzy. Ah, he'd be fine, just dand-

--------

There was a bright light above his head, Terry looked up at it in horror, only one thing was that colour that shade, that… expensive,

"Shite," he swore, bashing his head off the pillow. "I'm in a hospital."

A doctor in scrubs leant over him, "Howdy. You are indeed, Mr Smith. I'm Doctor Speares, you've broken a few bones…"

Terry shifted himself up and began hitting his head off the board. The doctor stopped him, "What are you doing?!"

Terry looked at him, "I'm trying to get myself into a coma, you eejit."

_**I did say random and pointless. You may have gathered (and if not I'm about to tell you) that 1) Terry is very, very broke, 2) Terry doesn't have much of a life, 3) Terry has extreme clumsiness issues, 4) Terry has a Fear/Stand Up Too If Feeling Suicidal relationship with Abby, and 5) Terry is Lucas' long lost brother, okay, scratch 5, I was just messing and he ended up a little like a shyer (ruder if at all possible) Lucas. **_


	22. Graveyards In The Rain: Lucas L

_A/N: This is another little drabbley ficlet this time a more serious Lucas._

Lucas walked down in the rain, the lone living soul in the place. It was typical movie scene, the way he saw it. A bunch of flowers in his hands, he wore a black shirt, now sodden, his usually bright tie was exchanged for a charcoal and grey one, a set of smart black waterproof trousers covered his working jeans, but it was appropriate. For this graveyard, it was an appropriate setting.

Lucas wanted to start at the end, at his mother. Elena Logan, he drew a single flower from the bunch, placing it down. "I hope I'm doing alright, Mom. I hope it's going fine for you down there."

He moved on to the next one, "Likewise, Dad. Um, I can't remember what flowers you like so, I thought you'd trust Mum's taste so…"

Three stones down, there was a tablet on the ground: _Eric Logan "Don't be depressed, you'll hurt my head"_ Lucas grinned, "What was I thinking when I agreed to use that? But um, here's a flower, bro… not exactly hard but… y'know."

Lucas was now persuading himself that the water falling down his face purely rain. "Purely rain," muttered Lucas, "Purely rain. Nought else."

He moved on to the last visit; he would be back later in the week for this one to be filled, once the official things, autopsy and its relations were complete, back to meet the marked gravestone. But still, Lucas laid the last flower on the grass below the tablet.

Lucas smiled grimly, "You ruined my half birthday week, old friend."

Special Agent Logan turned away, walking down towards his Vespa scooter, now empty handed. He removed the black helmet from the seat and swung it on. Grief, he once again rationalised, would account for his saying this, "Let's go, daddy-o."

Lucas put it into gear and rode off into the rain.


	23. Scooby Doo And The Mineshaft: McGee's T

Author's Note: the author and the owner of this fic (YouGottaSingAlong and OutCold) came up with yet another random 'McGee's Team' oneshot while watching (and attempting to listen to) Scooby Doo while on a bus on the way back from London. Many comments were adapted from things we were saying before I started dictating Hayley writing this, but there are no specific character resemblances here.

Disclaimer: We don't own McGee or NCIS or Scooby Doo.

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The senior field agent, Lucas Logan grabbed his two subordinates' wrists, "Tash, Jay, _run_." He began for the mineshaft which would provide cover from the hail of bullets raining down on the car before realising that the two girls were still flattened against the car. He swiftly dived back next to them.

"What the hell are you two doing?" he hissed.

Jamey looked at him, "Mineshaft, Lucas, it's a mineshaft."

"So?"

Tash let off two shots at their assailants before asking incredulously, "You never watched Scooby Doo?"

"Maybe, I... saw one of the films... I think. Once.... What relevance does Scooby Doo hold to our current-" As a bullet streaked past Tash's ear, they three flattened themselves to the ground. "_- current situation?!"_

Tash and Jamey exchanged a despairing glance. "You _never_ go into the mineshaft."

"So this has nothing to do with Health and Safety?" Lucas nervously scanned the gorge, the firing had stopped and it worried him. "Just some bloody cartoon."

The other two stared at him, appalled. Tash spoke first. "You did not just say that."

Jamey followed her up, "That's like saying... that's like... that's like dissing Tom and Jerry."

"Right," he sounded resigned. "So this is basically some ridiculous fear-"

"It is not a fear!"

"-of mineshafts founded from a Yankee cartoon that you're worrying about while we're under fire and the only safe place I can see is that mineshaft."

"Bad things happen in mineshafts."

Lucas rolled his eyes, "If I die beca-"

He heard a shout from the other side of the ruined automobile. McGee's head appeared, "Lucas, why didn't you retreat to the mineshaft?!"

"Blame Scooby Doo." Lucas stood up, brushing down his clothes and stalked off.


	24. Omega Directive: Jamey M and Sally R

_Disclaimer: I don't own Disney/Merlin crossover videos, YouTube, ClassicalPilatesUS, The Ironing Stop, Batman, Doctor Who, Outnumbered, The Bill, Torchwood, My Family, Merlin, Robin Hood..._

_A/N: Idea came from finding another leaflet while out leafleting and getting possessive over 'our patch'. Idea belongs to YouGottaSingAlong (__**ME!**__), and this was co-written with her._

_A/N: For The General: She Knows Who She Is. __**I put that via MSN ;D**_

* * *

Fourteen year-old Jamey Mulgrew was about to turn back onto the street when she saw it.

"Sally," Jamey called. "Get over here."

"What is it Mulgrew because if it's a bloody dog again I swear I will . . ." Sally continued to mutter as she crossed the road.

Jamey pointed mutely at the floor of a porch. A ClassicalPilatesUS leaflet that she had just dropped in, lay beside a black rectangle of card – "The Ironing Stop" it read. Jamey scowled. "_Someone _has been leafleting on _our patch." _She had a mad glint in her eye that Sally recognised on sight.

"Jamey . . . ironing and Pilates are _not _competitive markets."

"But it's our patch!" Jamey whined, a small grin contradicting her tone of voice.

"Jamey, don't."

She ignored this and, glancing furtively around, darted forward to lift the leaflet, carefully inserting it into the midst of her bundle.

Sally rolled her eyes, shook her head, and mutely returned to her side of the road.

-----

A girl leant against the wall, reading a Pilates leaflet with a smirk. Sally craned her neck. It was definitely a Pilates leaflet. Why was she reading one of their leaflets? Then a flash of black caught her eye. The Ironing Stop. She rushed over to Jamey.

"She nicked one of our leaflets." Jamey smiled, seeing what was coming. "Jamey Mulgrew, we are at war."

------

As Sally rifled her way through several piles of paper, looking for a clean A3 sheet, Jamey sat, noisily, contemplating the slip of black card – to be more accurate, _several_ slips of black card – in her hands. "Snobs. They have double sided leaflets. And they're printed on card."

"Ours are bigger though," pointed out Sally.

"True, and ours are sort of cleaner. Don't ours look cleaner?"

Sally mumbled in the affirmative as she continued to rifle. Jamey by this point was inspecting the mustard yellow back. "They claim to be weird. They're not weird, they don't deserve that title-"

"Mmm..." Sally replied, scattering papers everywhere as she climbed over a beanbag to another mess of white sheets.

"And what are they thinking? I mean, you can watch TV while ironing... and you could invite friends over, and iron talking to them, or put them on speaker, or something."

"Mmm, mmm," Sally replied delightedly pulling out a crumpled but clean piece of paper, "Found one. Knew there was one somewhere."

Jamey continued, "... or you could buy yourself a treadmill and walk as you iron..."

Both girls fell about laughing at this, eventually spluttering themselves into a state that could be faked to be 'calm'.

Sally used her arm to swipe away some of the junk on her desk.

"I think you just broke your phone."

"Who cares? I'll get it later. Now what should we call this plan?"

Jamey looked around vaguely, spotting a _Star Trek Voyager_ boxset, "Omega Directive, then we can name the sections as we go."

Sally looked up from writing, "There's more than one plan."

"You said it was war."

Sally sent more 'stuff' flying as she dived for her drawer, "What's war without walkie talkies."

Jamey looked horrified, "You've had them all this time?! ... Oh and that's two-way handheld radio transceiver to you."

"Whatever," Sally shrugged off dismissively. "You can be _Jaybird_ and I'll be the _Robin_..."

"_The _Robin?" Jamey spluttered. "Like Batman-Robin?"

"You have a point-" The two fell into hysterics once more. "I'll be _Sparrow _then."

"Where does that come – Sally Sparrow."

She looked sheepish. "I liked that episode."

Jamey grinned, "Plus, it freaked Raquel out majorly."

Sally squawked as her eyes sought out one of the fifteen black cards on the ground, "Snobs! Their slogan fucking rhymes!"

As Sally set to writing out the plan, Jamey opened a tab on Sally's computer and began playing Merlin/Disney crossover videos on YouTube, while hanging over Sally's shoulder...

_**The OMEGA DIRECTIVE**_

_Equipment  
Two way handheld radio transceivers  
'__The Ironing Stop' leaflets_

Jamey leant over and nicked the pencil from Sally.

_Large amounts of cunning._

"Nice, Jay."

"Ta very much."

"Where did you pick up 'ta' from? I mean, _ta_?!"

Jamey motioned toward Sally's 'book'case – truly a large collection of television shows that Sally collected - where there was an entire section devoid of American boxsets, instead with Doctor Who, Outnumbered, The Bill, Torchwood, My Family, Merlin, Robin Hood...

"Oh..."

_SECTION ALPHA  
Minimising the potential consumer base  
When the opportunity arises, enemy propaganda should be prevented from reaching its target._

"That means 'nick their leaflets when you can' right?" Jamey asked.

"Well . . . yeah."

Sally began to push her leaflet through the fur inside the letter slot, when she hit the end of a piece of card. She grasped at it, clinging on by her fingertips and pulled it back. "The Ironing Stop," she read, and rushed back down the drive, flashing it at Jamey who was in the next house, and who flashed another at her, grinning manically. Sally knew she looked just as insane.

Jamey kneeled to stuff her leaflet under a door where there was no letterbox or slot. A black shape looked tantalisingly back at her. She smiled and reached out when she heard a shuffle behind her.

Sally dashed down the stairs, cursing whatever madman thought it was good idea to make streets uneven when she saw a red head turning to face her, bundle in hand. Sally rolled up her own stack defensively.

The girl walked across the road, her face set firmly, stopping just short of Jamey. "Classical Pilates."

Feeling ridiculously cowboy-ish, Jamey stuffed her hands in her pockets. Brown eyes met blue. "The Ironing Stop."

Sally skipped the house she had been delivering at, a tactical decision to withdraw and find back-up, when she saw Jamey face-to-face with another _Stopper_. In wild panic, she moved on to the next street and waited for Jamey on the kerb.

"This is our turf," stated the _Stopper._

Jamey raised a single eyebrow, thanking the heavens for those competitions between her and her brother that had trained her in the art. "Suureee . . ." she drawled, trying not to burst out in fits of giggles.

Both girls tensed their jaws and continued to glare when interrupted by Sally's red head, "Sonny? I just saw one of those Pilates freaks across the road, dunno where the oth... Oh."

Jamey changed her expression and turned to the new girl. "Hi," she said sweetly, "well, must be off, work to do, would hate to be thought of as a slacker, wouldn't you?"

Sally breathed a sigh of relief, "You're alive!" She exclaimed.

Jamey smiled, "What are they gonna do? Iron me to death?"

"With a treadmill."

_SECTION BRAVO  
Casting enemy troops into disrepute  
Assume the identity of enemy troops while behaving in a disorderly fashion._

"How many Stopper leaflets do we have now?" Sally questioned as Jamey flicked through them.

"Fifty-odd."

"Enough for Section Bravo."

"More than enough for Section Bravo."

Sally grabbed a carton of hair dye. "Okay then Jamey. Let's get that lovely blonde hair of yours _ginger_."

Jamey ignored what would under most circumstances have been Sally's 'I will do something evil, and there is nought you can do', manic stare, "I always wanted to be ginger."

"How long do we want to do today?!" Sally yelled to Jamey, even though she was just across the road.

"I dunno, just a couple of hours!" Jamey hollered in return. "I mean, it's quite early, we can have the whole day for other stuff!"

Having said . . . shouted, this, she lifted a letter slot, inserted a Stopper leaflet, and shut it with an almighty clattering noise. Across the street she heard a matching crash as Sally ran down a drive. She dodged across the road and smiled guiltily, "I feel kind of bad for this."

Jamey gripped her shoulder, "All for the greater good, Sparrow. Casualties of war, these civilians must sacrifice their Sunday mornings."

Sally nodded, "I know but..."

"But nothing, Major! Get your fat ass back on that field."

"Nice, Jay, real nice."

As she walked back to the other side Jamey shouted out, "That's General to you!"

They continued with Section Bravo until an irate woman yanked open her door.

"If you are going to do your work at some ungodly fucking hour of the bloody fucking Sunday fucking morning . . ."

Usually Jamey would have taken the lecture while apologising profusely, but she realised she wasn't 'Jamey' at the moment. She turned away from her aggressor, sprinting down the drive and down the street, hissing into her radio transceiver, "Major Sparrow, Tactical Manoeuvre W, _now . . . _over."

"With D?"

"Why not?!"

The girls ran down the maze of small streets, attempting to reach the main road, while scattering their remaining leaflets. As they finally stopped, breathing heavily, Sally grinned. "Those Stoppers. Littering," she tutted.

Something smacked Jamey's face, taking away her guilty glee. Several ClassicalPilatesUS leaflets fluttered by. "Ah. I think we need an alibi, Major."

Sally looked around in horror. "We're on the other side of town. NOW!"

The girls once again broke into a sprint.

Jamey turned, completely out of breath, to her best friend. "From now on, we take the bikes."

_SECTION CHARLIE  
Casting the enemy base into disrepute  
Falsify enemy documents and distribute to the general public._

"Hey, we're here from The Ironing Stop?"

The man at the printers looked up in recognition.

"Have you already distributed the last lot?"

Sally and Jamey looked extraordinarily guilty. "When we were designing the last leaflet we 'neglected to enter crucial details'. We have a new one we need copies of."

The guy took the proffered leaflet with a sympathetic smile and studied it. "Twenty dollars minimum? For ironing? Bit steep, isn't it?"

Jamey shrugged. "We just deliver."

They paid a small portion of their hard earned wages for fifty more.

As soon as they had them, they began to deliver. As Sally announced with great delight, "Section Charlie is in operation."

A man turned to his wife. "The Ironing Stop has put its fares up."

She peered over his shoulder. "Well, screw them then, we can do our own ironing. No one's gonna fork out, ironing isn't _that _terrible."

_SECTION DELTA  
Defensive techniques  
I. Leaflets should not be left in vulnerable positions._

Sally looked at the open cylindrical letterbox that contained a rolled up newspaper. "So not safe, what do they do with bank statements . . . what do I do with my leaflet?"

She searched around the door, and, finding nothing, crept around the back, where she squished the leaflet through the side of a different door.

Jamey looked at the open porch. Whereas usually she would be grateful for the easy drop, she didn't want any of her leaflets to fall into Stopper hands. She was still looking around when a small boy came running around from the back, chased by his father.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm just delivering leaflets, would you . . .?"

It was a strange thing, she'd noticed it every time she went delivering – even though she was right next to the door, he took it from her himself.

_II. All contact with printers must be fully terminated to prevent Section Charlie being used to our disadvantage._

"We are terminating contact with this base," Sally announced.

"What?"

Jamey pushed Sally out of the way, glaring at her. "We won't be using this printer anymore."

The man seemed surprised. "Okay . . ."

"It's long . . . and complicated, and I really can't be bothered, but if anyone except us comes in to tell you different, don't listen to them."

She smiled blindingly.

"Sure."

As Sally and Jamey walked out, Jamey hissed, "Section Echo, Major, Section _Echo_."

_III. When radios are in use only code names should be spoken._

"Jame-Jaybird."

"Stick to Delta Three, Sparrow. Out."

"Trying, General. I just sighted enemy troops around the corner. Out."

"Okay, Sal, find cover until they pass. Out."

"Delta Three, Jaybird. Out."

"Sorry. Over and out."

They rushed behind the respective houses they were at, tucking in and really hoping the owners didn't emerge. The Stoppers passed by without incident.

"We've got to get better at Delta Three, _Jaybird. _Out."

"Couldn't agree more, _Sparrow. _Over and out."

_IV. Ensure enemy spies/potential enemy spies discover nothing._

"Jay, what's up with the Ironing Stop leaflets in your bottom drawer?" asked Fraser Mulgrew.

"Fraser! Why were you in my bottom drawer?!" yelled Jamey in panic.

"You answer first."

"No, you!"

"I asked first."

"You were in my drawers!"

"I was bored, now are you moonlighting on Don?"

_Should I say yes, should I say no? It's an easy explanation, but . . . _"No, they're a friends. I'm keeping them so they don't get lost."

"What friend?"

"Sally."

"Is Sally moonlighting?"

"No! Not Sally, though I am keeping some of Sally's Pilates ones for the same reason. Sammy. They're Sammy's."

Fraser looked disappointed with this simple explanation. "Okay."

_Crisis averted, _Jamey thought with relief.

_SECTION ECHO  
Subterfuge  
While in contact or proximity to those not privy to the Omega Directive, make no direct references to it._

"Jay, do we have any Sections to do today?"

"Nah, unless Alpha crops up. Just stick to Delta, we'll try Foxtrot for tomorrow."

Don, their 'boss' turned around from the front of the car. "What are you two going on about?"

They looked up in shock, having forgotten his presence.

"Schoolwork," Sally quickly said, then whispered to Jamey, "We forgot Echo."

"_Shut up._"

_SECTION FOXTROT  
Find and track enemy transmissions  
All communication channels among enemy lines to be found and monitored._

Jamey and Sally sat on a bench in a small grassy corner of the street. "I love places like this," Sally commented.

"I know. Whoever makes them is a god amongst us mere mortals. Shall we try for Foxtrot?"

Sally, looking vaguely evil, took out her radio transceiver and began twiddling the frequency. They both listened in.

" . . . bang bang, Chris, I need backup!" came through in a child's voice.

Both girls burst out laughing, looking along the street at each house and wondering where this game was being played.

A little more twiddling, however, got results.

"Haven't seen any Classics today but I think there were a few of their leaflets at the other end of the street."

"Sonny - how did you get on with that printer?"

"Wouldn't listen to me for some reason, Jane."

"Sonny and Jane," Jamey said. "Score."

They continued to listen in on the Stoppers for five minutes.

"What frequency is this, Sal?"

"456, must remember that."

"How difficult is 456?"

_SECTION GOLF  
Infiltrate the enemy troops_

_Send one of our agents undercover to gather first-hand information on the enemy._

"C'mon Sammy, pleeeaaaseeee?"

"Sal, Jay, I'd love to help out, really, I would . . ."

"Then do," said Jamey.

"How did this mad . . . mad . . . _turf war_ start anyway?! Look, I am not spying on leaflet deliverers for some ironing place."

"You get paid about 6 dollars an hour," smirked Sally.

"Where do I apply?" answered the broke teenager.

Sammy realised that Jamey and Sally had chosen her for three reasons. 1) They had no one else to do it. 2) She was very easy to manipulate into doing things (she was under no illusions on this point). And, of course, 3) she was the most light-fingered person they were going to find for the job. She had plunged into the world of the Stoppers, armed only with a well hidden radio transceiver ("no matter what they do to you, do not reveal our frequency") and a pack of the modified Ironing Stop leaflets. She lifted the flap of Sonny's bag as she turned to talk to Jane, and quickly switched her leaflets for her Omega-issue ones. She didn't even turn. Sammy loved the thrill. She knew Jamey kept a small coded padlock on the zip of her schoolbag. She'd already tried four-thousand of the possible combinations, and she didn't even think Jay kept anything interesting in there. She'd already switched Jane's before they went out. The girls were annoying, but they'd quickly invited her into their version of the 'Omega Directive'. She knew 'Jaybird' and 'Sparrow' would be more cautious, though perhaps it came from too much TV. She'd seen their 'master plan' and laughed madly at it. At them. Honestly she wished she'd been there since the beginning. She looked in satisfaction as Sonny and Jane unwittingly delivered the leaflets.

"They say anything interesting?"

"I believe they're going on another . . . Section Bravo . . . tomorrow morning. And I'm to outsource and find another printer who'll make up falsified Pilates leaflets for next time."

Jamey and Sally shared a glance. "Get ten or so falsified ones, then take them yourself and don't deliver them. Then get the rest just in our normal ones, let's see if they'll do our jobs for us."

Sally nodded. "Now how do we sabotage them tomorrow?"

-----

Leroy and Kate came storming through the lift doors, arguing.

"I know, but it's _our patch!_"

Jamey, alone in the bullpen, asked, "What's this?"

"We were delivering leaflets to advertise Felicity's new play," said Leroy.

"And I saw this other leaflet," continued Kate.

"I've tried to explain to my darling sister that theatre and toasters are not competitive markets . . ."

"But it's our patch!!"

Sally glanced around to check her co-workers weren't around. "Okay, here's what I'd do . . ."

* * *

_That's nearly 3000 words, you must have something to say._


	25. Thursdays: Bill C and Jamey M

_I own it. All of it. Other than the idea. Thanks to CatAmongPidgeons. This is a fanfic for a fanfic of my fanfic, and the idea came from her oneshot "You Are"._

* * *

The Asian man bent over his work again, pencil moving furiously across the page. The lock of black hair that flopped over his eye was left untended as he immersed himself in the mass of knowledge spread across the textbook pages in front of him. His name was a matter of debate – and of wager – it was Bill, or Brian, or Ben. To those who had known him long enough to loosen his tongue, he was Bill Chang, a medical student in Washington D.C. None of those privileged few, however, were

among his university peers, and the students – tired, broke, and rife with problems of their own – had soon lost interest in him.

A bell rang, and with a sigh he flipped shut his books, stuffing them into his bag, and stood. His clothes were subdued compared to most others around the university; the straight jeans and slate grey shirt allowed him to fade easily into backgrounds and crowds. His square jaw and good posture gave a false impression of stoic confidence, contradicted by his nervous brown eyes.

It was a Thursday. To others this may have seemed insignificant, certainly nothing compared to the end of a Friday – a bell that rang as though it were giving voice to a thousand silent cries of freedom. Bill Chang knew differently. Bill Chang knew that Thursdays were special. And so if anyone had been paying attention, they might have noticed a slight spring in his step, a slight smile in the corners of his lips or the shine of his eyes. A month or so previously, the ICT night class he had been attending ended. For the first time in his life he felt he could claim to be computer literate, But it came with a tinge of sadness, for sometime in the year's course he had made a friend, though he wasn't sure how. Her name was Jamey Mulgrew. She had sat next to him for five weeks before either of them had introduced themselves further than 'hi'. They were very different – she was confident and always said what she was thinking, but in spite or maybe because of this, they got on well. They became friendly to the point that Bill felt comfortable around her. Though he had been pleased with his certificate, he didn't want to lose her.

_They stood facing each other, neither quite sure what to say. They had exchanged email addresses, and numbers, but were both cynical, doubtful of their ability to keep contact._

"_Bye," Bill said, unsurely, and then turned to walk away. He paused, and span to face her again. "Listen, Jay.. that is.. now that… w-w-we're b-both free on Thursdays, I.."_

_She took pity. "Do you wanna go out next week?"_

One week had led to the next, and that to the one after. Bill Chang knew Thursdays were special.

*****

He woke the next morning on his sofa, his arm draped around the still sleeping Jamey. The news playing on the TV informed him that they had both dozed off in front of it. Jamey groaned and pushed herself into a sitting position. She kissed him, and grinned.

"Good morning. And thank you. I haven't slept well for weeks – flatmate stuff. Coffee?" He nodded and she pushed herself up. He grabbed onto her wrist to stop her. She laughed and kissed him again, prising open his hand. As she walked over to the small kitchen she called over her shoulder, "We're running a bit late – I'll give you a lift if you like."

*****

"Stop being a baby, get on."

He stared at the BMX in horror. His helmet seemed scant protection. Reluctantly he sat in the saddle. "If I die this morning, Mulgrew…"

"You'll go out with a bang, quit whining."

Jamey swung her leg over and kicked off, Bill clinging desperately to her sides. The bike thumped down the kerb, swerving dangerously close to a car, and tilting to a gravity-defying angle. She yelled something, but the words were lost before they reached Bill and he just hoped it wasn't an instruction or warning of some form. Jamey bounced up onto the pavement and down again, then lifted her front wheel slightly off the ground for a few seconds. He hadn't thought it possible, but Bill held on tighter. Shutting his eyes was only more terrifying, so he opened them in time to have his heart skip a beat when she suddenly braked. He clambered off, tripping himself up a few times in the process.

"I love you Jamey, but I am never going near that infernal thing again."

She froze for a second before continuing to unclip her helmet. "I'll walk you to class."

*****

The medical students turned as he and Jamey walked into the room, hands clasped. After a few seconds, she asked, "Aren't you going to introduce me, Bill?"

Money exchanged hands as she confirmed his name.

"Oh! Right, sure. This is Jamey, my..."

"Girlfriend," she supplied. "Pleasure to meet you, but I'm late." She pressed her lips to his cheek on her way out, whispering, "I love you too."

Once she was gone, someone turned to him. "Bill, have you revised the CNS yet?"

He was momentarily shocked at being addressed. "Sure, need a hand?"

The girl began to flick to a page in her notes, and offhandedly commented, "She's good for you."

"Yeah..." said Bill, breaking out in a smile. "She is."

Bill Chang knew Thursdays were special.

* * *

_Reviews, sil vous plais. _


	26. Yes, MADI, We Mean You: Jamey M, Sally R

**Disclaimer: I'm sure several people here would get pissed if I claimed to own them.**

**A/N: Allow me to translate this chapter. Jamey: Me/OutCold. Sally: Hannah/YouGottaSingAlong. Sammy: Madi/OzBabe. Elena: Emily/Tiva4evaxxx. Canada: Australia. Somplace in the States where this takes place: somplace in Scotland where this took place.**

**A/N2: A very Merry Christmas to Hannah/YouGottaSingAlong, this is for her, and DEFINITELY NOT for OzBabe, but here I am advertising her anyway, because that's the nice person that I am, as you will read.**

**A/N3: All of this chapter happened. The only thing cut out is the conversation about making it into a chapter for this. And yes, the horror story location does exist and IS that cliched. **

* * *

14 year-old Jamey Mulgrew placed the magnet on her advent calendar with great care. The red bow covered the black '8'. Jamey smiled. The eighth was a great date, a _fantastic _date, as far as she was concerned. There were two very important events today....

1) It had been a year since she had met Elena, her freakily close internet friend who she was shortly going to go upstairs and be hyperactive on the computer with, and

2) Sammy, who was moving to Canada, but had been travelling for the past month, was back for the last time before she moved, and Jamey, Sally and her were meeting for a hot chocolate in town.

Besides, Christmas was coming up, and people had their decorations up – a bit early maybe, but they did.

-----

_School is a monotony of pointless facts and useless lessons, infinite boredom and.... other stuff that I'm too bored to think about, _Jamey told herself as she walked into the girl's vesties to wait for Sally. A dark blurry shape outside the window had warned her that their seat above the radiator had probably been stolen, but the reality turned out to be far worse.

"HAVE A MARVELLOUS CHRISTMAS"

read the gaudy sign of felt-pen coloured letters that hung behind a stall, manned by teaching assistants trying to sell bric-a-brac to unsuspecting children.

"Idiots," she muttered to herself as she watched the younger – _they're only a year younger _– students falling into the trap, while also glaring at the large stuffed bear on the windowsill where they usually sat. She leant against a pillar, teeth chattering with the cold wind blowing through onto her. When she spotted someone who she knew to be in Sally's history class, she immediately stopped her, to find out that Emma _thought _Sally _might _be in the toilets.

"Thank you."

After less than a minute more of turning into an ice block, she crossed between buildings to wait outside the toilets. She explained the predicament to Sally when she came out, who immediately stormed back to confirm. No corner of the vestibules offered a scrap of shelter from the biting wind, and still with empty stomachs, they searched the school – with no success.

"I remembered what I was meant to be doing today," Sally announced.

"What?"

"Going shopping for a schoolbag with Mum."

"Oh. So.........?"

"I won't be able to make it."

"Okay."

-----

Eventually, they were driven to the path behind the golf course – a preferably refuge for warmer days.

"We could go to Sammy's," Sally half-heartedly suggested, "but only if her mum would give us a lift back."

Jamey made an unenthusiastic noise. "I don't like asking for favours from her parents..."

"I know, but it might be warm... we could call and ask if her mum would give us a lift back."

Jamey's hand slipped into her pocket, fingers running over the keys of her mobile. "We could..." Eventually, after much discussion, she brought out the phone, dialling Sammy's number with freezing fingers, and holding it to her ear. A harsh beeping noise came through. "Fuck!"

"What?"

"Their phone's disconnected, remember? Stupid moving."

Sally groaned. "Do you have her mobile number?"

"Nope..... wait, don't you?"

"My phone's out of charge."  
Jamey looked confused. "Not even enough to give me the number?" she asked hopefully.

"No. When it's dead, it's completely dead."

They silently consented to sit by the wall of the graveyard that also ran alongside the path, practically hugging it for warmth as they ate their sandwiches. A bike cruised along, ridden by Mrs Nelson, a teacher at the school, who greeted them. They held in laughter until she'd turned a corner, before erupting into hysterics.

"She thinks we're nutters."

"Uh huh."

They sat for longer, curled into balls in an attempt to hide from the wind and occasional splatter of rain. Jamey fiddled with her phone, causing Sally's epiphany.

"Wait, Jay, is your phone a Nokia?"

"Yeah............."

Sally fished hers out of a pocket, sliding off the back, popping out the battery and triumphantly holding up her sim card. "See if this fits."

Thirty seconds later, Jamey looked baffled. "Where the hell's my sim??"

"Give over." Fiddling, Sally managed to partially slide out the small metal casing that the card was held in. Jamey pulled her phone back, and slipped her thumb over it, trying to drag it out. The freezing digit slid uselessly off. Sally took the mobile again, attempting to get it out.

"It needs tweezers," Jamey whined. "I don't carry tweezers to school, I'm not _that _girl!"

"Damnit," said Sally. "They're right. C'mon, I'm Sally Robins," she said, fumbling through her pockets, "I must have _something_."

A man walking his dog now came down the road and glanced at them, looking amused.

"Good afternoon!" they announced chirpily, pausing in their actions. They waited until he'd turned the corner to fall about laughing again and then continue their task.

A fruitless attempt to fish it out using the separated wires of earphones disproved this. Jamey winced each time Sally attempted to grab the sim. "I fear for my phone's safety, Sal."

"There's no reason for that! It's perfectly safe."

"The card is _frayed _at the ages."

"It's been like that for ages....... ages being ages today."

"Exactly," Jamey replied while saving her phone battery from crashing onto the stones beneath her when it slid off her knee.

Sally breathed on her thumb to warm it up, and tried sliding out the sim again, it slipped out easily. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

Excited at the breakthrough, they hurriedly inserted Sally's in replacement and clicked in the battery.  
Their hopes fell flat, unable to access the sim memory. Another idea seemed to strike Sally, as she dug out another phone.

"How many phones do you have with you today?" Jamey asked.

"Two."

"And they're _both _out of charge?"

"Yup."

"Get out the sim then."

When she opened the phone they were faced with a mass of metal and complicated looking …… bits. "Woah."

"How the hell do you get that out?"

After figuring it out, they eventually managed to note Sammy's mobile number. Tension mounting, they called………………..

"I _hate _that _bloody beeping noise!!_"

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" Sally asked, sounding as amused as she was pissed off.

"It's a horrible noise."

-----

Jamey walked into her empty house. Both her parents were out late, and Fraser at a driving lesson. After a day of planning, she had an idea of what she was doing – walking the dogs via Sammy's house, in the vague hope she'd be there. As she was checking her email, Sally called.

"Hey."

"Hey – I can walk the dogs with you if you want."

Sally, confused, replied simply, "You can?"

"Yeah, Mum granted me a reprieve from tidying and we're going to go shopping tomorrow or something – so should I come over or what?"

-----

They walked along in the dark, two dogs tugging at their lead, ranting about Sammy and her non-availability.

"I just think," Jamey said, grinning to herself, "that we're the ones making all the effort in this relationship."

"We _are_," Sally agreed.

"I mean, I feel that we're the only ones trying to make it work, is all," she continued, and them mumbled lowly, "and that's why we're here in marriage counselling."

Sally laughed.

"Also she dragged me," added Jay.

"I mean," Sally joined in, "we made that whole box for her."

"I know! I mean, it had _chocolates, _how romantic is that?!"

"And we didn't even eat them _all_!"

"What else was romantic in that box?" Jamey wondered.

"The photo album," answered Sally immediately. "A lot of effort went into that."

"The photo album! And the autograph book!"

"And the autograph book! The only way we could have been more romantic is to have given her flowers….. we should have given her flowers!"

"I just think," Jamey said, "that this relationship should be a three sided thing, don't you?"

"Well, it would still sort of be two sides, since we're sort of a joint side, but yes, she should make an effort!"

Mr Wright, a teacher from school, cycled past, the light on the front of his bike blinding them.

They burst out laughing, knowing he must have heard something, and wondering how much.

"Do you want me to take the dogs back, Sal?"

"Nah, you're good. They're making me feel slightly better about being out in the dark. I have a paranoia about it."

"I know." Jamey glanced around. "At least it is your paranoia."

"Huh?"

"I was thinking about Sammy and her parents."

"Oh, yeah. I suppose."

"This is a really stereotypical horror story setting," Jamey said, suddenly changing the subject.

"I was just thinking that."

"I mean, we just passed the graveyard... and then there's the creepy woods at the side."

"What would happen now is the dogs would start madly barking and howling… and then the _really _stereotypical thing would be that they pulled so hard that I had to let go, and they'd run off into the distance."

"And then we," added Jamey, "being stupid people, would chase after them…"

"And would for some reason decide to go through the creepy woods…"

"Because we think it will be quicker…."

"Yes."

"Then one of us will start to get really freaked out and paranoid…"

Sally laughed sheepishly. "Wonder who that would be…"

"Then the other would die first….. yeah, I'd die first…"

"Leaving me alone in the woods."

"Where you'd hide in a dark corner under a tree in a little ball…"

"Until I saw the glinting eyes in front of me and the blood stained knife…."

"We're away from the graveyard now," Jamey mentioned.

"Yeah, that's alright… although there is the big house…"

"With the wrought iron gates…"

"And the creepy wood's still on our other side…."

"Okay, we're still in a horror story. Tell me, do you think zombies or mass murderer hiding in graveyard?"

"Oh mass murder. I'm trying to stick to realism – because this is so realistic."

Finally, they reached Sammy's house.

"All the lights are off, Jay."

"It looks empty."

"Yes."

"And I don't really want to go up that drive."

"No."

"We should turn around now then."

"Yes.

They wandered back with the dogs, until they reached the horror story location yet again.

_The two girls walked in silence along the thin road. Black branches from the trees at their side silhouetted against the dim illumination of distant streetlights. A cross towered above the grey wall of the cemetery, leaving no illusions as to what was behind it. _Jamey shook her head to clear it. "Sal, are you writing a stereotypical horror story in your mind by any chance?"

Sally laughed. "Yup."

"Uh-huh." They walked by, passing a building site. "Oh, there's a construction site too," Jamey continued. "This place is _so _stereotypical."

"Lucky thing we're too sensible to decide to go through it."

A light, obviously activated by a sensor, switched on as they passed. "Okay, that was freaky."

Another light from the small house nearby shone on, blinding them. "And that's exactly what would happen in a horror story."

The girls burst out laughing again. "Don't worry," Jamey said. "We're approaching the golf course now. Nothing bad happens on golf courses."

"Other than getting beaten up by neds."

"Yeah, but that's not actually scary, it's just sorta a fact of life."

--

"It would be really rather useful to know the time." Sally's absence of a watch was irritating her.

"It would," Jamey agreed.

They continued to wander down the road, where a deliveryman – despite the darkness, it really wasn't that late – was walking back to his van.

Jamey glanced to her side at Sally, who she knew was weird about talking to completely random people, and couldn't go into the same shop twice within three days. "Excuse me," she called out. "Do you have the time?"

"Sorry?"

"The time?"

"Oh. No, no I don't…… but it's around five I think."

"Right, thanks."

"I knew you were going to do that," Sally said, rolling her eyes as they walked away.

Jamey laughed. "I thought if I told you you might stop me."

"Nope. I was considering doing it myself, but then I remembered that I'm me. And then I remembered that you were with me, and you're you."

--

"This is ridiculous," Sally announced, continuing the rant about Sammy.

"Yes," droned Jamey in response.

"Do I sense depression?"

"Yes," she replied in the same tone.

"Do I sense pissed-off-ness?"

"Yes."

"Do I sense giving-up-ness? … no, wait… what's the word?"

Jamey looked more animated. "I dunno, umm…. Desolation?"

"No, less fancy that that… it could be two words, but I think it's one… ahh, never mind. Do I sense giving-up-ness?"

"Yes," she responded desolately.

"We could drop by the Marine," Sally suggested a while later. "I could wait outside with the dogs while you go in and check if they're there?"

"We could…" responded Jamey in a non-committed tone. A while passed as they walked along, continuing to rant about Sammy. "This is ridiculous," Jamey eventually said, digging into her pocket to find her phone." She dialled her home. "Hey Fraser? Yeah, do you know the number for the directory? Sammy hasn't called, has she? ………. Actually, I'm just looking for the number for the Marine, so if you know that…. Okay."

Sally was cringing and mouthing, "Just say you were just wondering!!" desperately throughout this conversation, looking defeated at the mention of the Marine.

"Right, thanks Fraser." Jamey punched in the number that her brother had just found.

"If you're doing this, walk ahead, I'm staying here."

"Then I'll just stay too." She grinned evilly. "Hi…. Oh right. Automated thing. Ummm….. 5," she decisively pushed the keypad. "Huh?? Umm……. Oh good. Hi. I was wondering if you had anyone under the name Rogers staying there? That's R-O-G-E-R-S. Okay, well thank you anyway." She shook her head as she hung up. "Damn. And I hate automated things."

"Shit," Sally sighed as she recovered from her cringing. "And yeah, I hate it when you start to talk to one and then it's like… oh."

Sally shoved on a black Eskimo hat.

"You look ridiculous."

"I know. I fully admit that I look ridiculous, but it's warm."

Jamey shivered back into her coat. "Good point."

They stood at the road, a steady stream of headlights piercing through the darkness.

"We're never gonna cross."

"Nope."

"We're going to be here forever."

"Yup."

"The thing about Sammy is she was – " Jamey broke off, "_is, is, _she isn't dead."

"She's as good as dead. She's moved away, and next time we see her, she will be dead." She shivered and brought her hands to her mouth, trying to warm them up. "In fact, next time I see her I'm going to force her to walk around town in a bikini."

Jamey laughed. "And that hat."

"Well, my point was to make her cold."

"Oh, I thought it was the embarrassment. Anyway, they say if you bear your legs and cover your head, you lose just as much heat through your legs."

"True…. okay, and the hat. Now, how to do this…. She'll go swimming, I'll go into the pool in a wetsuit and drag her out, then you'll…. No, in fact yes, I'll have you outside to make sure she starts walking, I'll rush in and change and then join you."

"Perfect."

They immediately fetched drinks as they entered the dimly lit kitchen, pulling out chairs and sitting under the single light in the middle that was on. The effect was one of a spotlight illuminating them as they sat, looking dejected and slowly drinking from their glasses.

"This is another movie scene," Jamey said. "With movie lighting. The only thing is that.."

"This should be alcohol," Sally finished, gesturing toward her glass.

"Exactly. You want a hot chocolate?"

"I don't really have the time," Sally glanced up at the clock, "but sure."

Jamey pushed herself up and fished the powder out of a cupboard, mumbling to herself along the lines of 'I'll just make it in a jug'. She heaped in some powder.

"That's not enough," she decided, displaying it to Sally.

"No – I put that much in when I'm just making one for myself." Jamey loaded another teaspoon full, hot chocolate towering up in it. "Wow," Sally continued. "You should enter that into a record for the most heaped teaspoon of hot chocolate… using a normal teaspoon."

"The sad thing is that record probably exists," Jamey grinned in reply. She put the jug into the microwave, still mumbling, this time about how she had to make sure it wouldn't spill over. It did anyway.

Eventually they both sat in the same position again, but with mugs of hot chocolate instead of glasses of juice.

"Does she understand that we might never see her again?" stormed Jamey.

"I don't know. Does she understand that you gave up time with Elena on your anniversary for her?.... in fact, probably not…." They finished up, and left the mugs in the sink. Sally glanced at the clock again. "I should be getting home, but I'll come up and talk to Elena with you for a while."

"Cool."

**Elena says:** how was sammy?  
**Jamey says:** Didn't get to see her.  
**Elena says:** why not?  
**Elena says: **:S  
**Jamey says:** cba to explain  
**Jamey says:** Tell you later.  
**Elena says**: ok  
**Jamey says:** We've been talking for a year!!!!!!  
**Elena says:** I KNOW!!!!!

Jamey grinned widely at Sally, looking ridiculously happy.

Eventually, with Sammy now very late, she decided she really should head home.

"I'm going to kill her," Jamey said in parting.

"Bikini," was the response, complete with an evil smile.

Jamey rested her head against the chair back. "Fuck," she announced to the empty room.

* * *

**That is it, in glorious detail.**

**Merry Christmas!! =D=D=D**


	27. The Mute Button: Fabian S

**Disclaimer: What I love about this fic, is most of the time there's actually no point for this little line. It's the fun of owning your own stuff, coupled with the ease of FF.**

**A/N: I've been writing this for 5 months, no joking. Well, I've been writing a small amount every few weeks for 5 months. It was just one of those really slow things. Anyway, an excerpt from Fab's days as an anti-terrorism agent. **

* * *

Agent Fabian Sawicki of the Polish Anti-Terrorism Department stepped off of his plane, warm Spanish air hitting him. He removed the black suit jacket that he wore over a white t-shirt and slung it over his arm. He descended the steps to be met by a black car and a group of Spanish agents, and found himself grateful that they weren't wearing dark sunglasses, even in this light, because that really would have been too far. While they drove Fabian observed each of this team, his team, for a while at least. All of them attempted conversation at some point, but crumpled under his stare, and turned away, defeated. They really weren't looking forward to working under this guy. One of the girls, Cara Godsky, was from Poland, had transferred around three months ago. Though she was by all accounts a good agent, as the links between the crime of their countries grew more complex, it seemed appropriate to send Fabain out. The car pulled up at a safehouse. The team stepped out, Fabian in the lead. He ignored the key proffered to him by the guy who'd been driving, and picked the lock with apparent ease.

"Safe," he commented and continued into the building.

He could hear furious whispers in Spanish behind him, but didn't break stride. Cara appeared by his side.

"Over here, Gudek," she told him, indicating a set of stairs, with a slight teasing smile.

The term sounded very strange to Fabian, and he shook his head. "Not necessary."

"It's good to have a familiar face out here, Sawicki. You're in the first room on the left."

-----

He walked into the kitchen after relaxing in his room for half an hour. Cara was sitting up on the counter, protesting in fluent Spanish to three men gathered around her.

"One obmyślają was jesteście świnią," she remarked to him in Polish in a lilting, amused tone.

"Wy zgadzający się?"

She laughed in mirth, swinging her legs. The Spanish agents looked very suspicious, fixing glares at Fabian. He ignored them, methodically searching the cupboards for food. Eventually satisfying himself with a pack of digestive biscuits, he took a seat at the table, still pointedly ignoring the room's other occupants.

"Sawicki," one finally said.

"Ramos," he responded with speed, snapping his head around to meet the man's eye.

They stared at one another with hard eyes, a silent power struggle.

"Well," said Cara, breaking the tension. "I'm going outside. I can't breathe for the testosterone."

A female Spanish agent who had been hiding in the corner looked relieved, and darted out the door after her. The silent challenge continued, until eventually others also siphoned out of the room to leave Ramos and Fabian. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the clock tick past three minutes. Ramos looked away. _Slow, _Fabian chastised himself, _very slow. _

-----

Fabian stood still at the window of an abandoned apartment near a naval base. A scope from his eye moved, slowly trailing the movements of one man who seemed interested in the submarines. He had been in Spain for three weeks, and had singled out this one man. His name was Camilo Munoz, and he'd been making extensive trips between Poland and Spain, with trucks of what they suspected to be weaponry, after further thought. Fabian slipped the telescope into his pocket, and walked briskly out of the wrecked building into the street.

He slowed by the fence surrounding the navy yard, wandering aimlessly along to appear interested in the boats docked there. He collided with Munoz, and muttering apologies in Spanish, moved on. It was a traditional trick, Fabian knew, and could only hope that even if he searched his pocket, he wouldn't find the miniscule tracking device.

-----

"Can you make it stop _beeping, _Sawicki?" Ramos snapped.

Fabian's finger ran over the mute button at the back of the transceiver. He shrugged. Ramos growled, and Cara in the back seat of the car just shook her head. The small, beeping green dot moved closer to the navy yard. Fabian's body began to tense slightly, feet hovering above the clutch and accelerator. He appeared to change his mind, and muted the tracker to stuff it in his pocket – gaining a filthy look from his colleagues, not just Ramos, who had put up with it for half an hour – and sliding our of the car. He began to stride purposefully off, but Cara was at his side in an instant.

"What the _hell _are you doing, Sawicki?!" she demanded in a flow of Polish.

He activated another tracking device, giving her the transceiver for it, and dropped it into his pocket.  
"Fabian?" she asked as he turned away again. "Where's the mute button?"

He snorted with a burst of laughter, and continued on his way.

-----

The blinking light that was Camino Munoz disappeared onto a submarine, as did the shadow that Fabian could now see. He approached cautiously, to find that the hatch was still open. He didn't know how Munoz had gotten in, but he knew how he would. Waiting a few minutes, he climbed down the ladder. He followed the passageway, and eventually reached a small control room. Munoz was in there, bent under a control panel. Silently, Fabian stalked up behind him, grabbing him in a chokehold until he passed out. Fabian crouched down to see the panel, before hearing, "Don't move," behind him, and feeling the barrel of a gun on his head. He raised his hands. "I'm standing up, but I still have the gun on you, turn around, stand," the voice continued. Fabian obeyed, and was faced with a young Spaniard in Marine uniform. "What are you doing?"

Fabian took a deep breath. "Under that panel, there is a bomb – stay calm. Now, I know how to diffuse it, will you let me?" He slowly reached into his pocket to open his badge.

After reading it, the Marine hesitantly shuffled over to the panel to check. A device, slowly beeping, was wired up to the controls. Fabian knew that that it was unlikely he or the three colleagues who would be somewhere on board had the training to disarm it. Finally, the Spaniard seemed to decide. He nodded. "Vaya."

A slight sheen of sweat appeared over Fabian's forehead – even he wasn't immune to disarming a bomb with a gun at his head. Taking every movement slowly so as not to alarm his captor, he pulled a knife from his waist and crouched again to face the mass of wires.

-----

"Where the hell's Sawicki?"

"On the submarine," Cara replied with all the scathing she could muster. "Where else?"

Ramos growled. "What's taking him so long?"

"Ask him yourself," she laughed as the unmistakable tall shape appeared on the dock, silhouetted against the slowly rising sun. Climbing up after him was another man, and she leant forward, hand automatically flying to the gun on her hip. The only reason she didn't fire was that she trusted Fabian to sort things how he wanted to, so she watched the scene unfold.

-----

"Wait."

Fabian stopped to turn, nodding his head in an indication that the man should continue.

"You are just going to leave me here? There is footage of us on the ship, no? Punch me, you idiot."

Although he was surprised, Fabian couldn't argue the logic or the sincerity on his face. "You sure?" he asked.

"Of course I am, make it look good."

Needing no more encouragement, Fabian swung his fist colliding with the man's nose and sending him crashing to the floor, passing out. He stepped forward to read ID clipped to the Marine uniform. "Thank you, Marco," he told the unconscious body, then set off at a run to get back to the waiting car.

* * *

**Finally. This gives me such relief to post. :P**


	28. Swashbucking Hero: Felicity G, Patrick K

**Waaay back at chapter 2, FliBbeRGibbIt, expressed a desire to know how Felicity and Gibbs met the wonderful Monsieur Kennard. So here is Felicity's part of that tale for her, I hope to have Gibbs' coming soon. **

**Also, Emily, you never get to threaten me with this again. We're done. Okay? We can fight about Rach later. But when it comes to Elena... we're done.**

* * *

Felicity Gordon stared at the address written on her hand. Seemed like the right place. "Need a hand?" she called down.

The man, dressed in tight jeans and a white, slightly dirty top that tried but failed to carry off the "I didn't expertly plan this look", thing, turned in surprise. He stood on deck of a small boat, a tin of polish in one hand and a scouring brush in the other. "Well that is a slightly complex question, I'm afraid." The English accent with its starkly obviousinflections put her immediately at ease. Not only did she know for a fact that she wasn't dealing with a womaniser – though she had no idea how a man would fare in her situation – but also he was undoubtedly similar to a lot of guys at the theatre.

"What's so complex about it?" she asked, dropping lightly down onto the deck with him.

He grimaced. "Now that was slightly silly my darling. May I enquire as to your name?"

"Felicity. Felicity Gordon."  
"Patrick William Kennard. And really, it is a pleasure, Felicity, but you've caught me in a slightly tight spot."

Her face became confused. "And that would be?"

"Well, it all happened a little like this," he coughed in an embarrassed manner. "I got myself onto this admirable vessel much the same way as you did. Took a leap, bounded lightly down, playing a little the suave swashbuckling hero, I'll admit."  
"Mr Kennard."

He waved her aside. "Patrick, please. Anyway, it turns out that the harbour level is a little lower than I anticipated and, you see, my dear, our ladder suffered an unfortunate rusting, and," he gestured off the side of the boat, and she followed with her eyes. The broken bottom few rungs of a ladder clung desperately to the wall. "The rest rests at the bottom of the ocean I'm afraid. I was rather hoping you could help me reach land again, but now it seems we're both marooned here for an undetermined length of time. I do apoligise, I should have explained immediately but I'm an awful procrastinator."

"Just a little," she grimaced. "Is there anything inside that could help?"

"I'm sure the interior is overrun with nautical equipment that would be simply _divine _in our present scenario, 'City. However somewhere in my obviously convoluted thought processes this morning, I declined to bring the key on the grounds I was only polishing the outer woodwork."

"… Shit."

"Well that does rather seem to sum up the circumstances, darling."

Felicity furrowed through her shoulder bag, producing a bar of solid chocolate. She split it down the middle and offered half to Patrick, who looked at her like she was a god. "Thank you _so_ much, I haven't had a bite to eat since eleven o'clock."

She paused in her nibbling of a square. "You do elevenses, don't you?"

"One of the six central meals of the day, you simply must do elevenses."

She laughed. "Those would be breakfast, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper, wouldn't they?"

He didn't answer her question, instead just giving her a despairing look and saying, "_Luncheon, _'City, not 'lunch'."

She sniggered to herself. "Whatever you say, Pat. Now, do you think you could give me boost up?"

"Well I suppose we could give that a try," he said, looking doubtfully up the wall. He rewrapped the remaining squares of chocolate and gave them to Felicity to put back in her bag, which she shrugged off onto the deck. Tentatively, she placed her foot in the cup he formed with his hands, pushing herself up and grabbing on to a crack between the bricks. Finding a foothole, she clung to the wall, swinging one arm up to hold the edge. Patrick pushed at her feet again, and breathless, she collapsed onto the ground.

"Okay," she panted. "Let's start again. Need a hand?"

He grinned up at her. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. I appear to be stuck down here. Would it terribly inconvenience you to fetch a rope ladder from the building to your left?"

"Not at all. Where would I find this rope ladder?"

He told her it was in a cupboard on her right as she entered, and she ran to fetch it. Once she emerged again with the ladder, she hooked it on to a mooring point. "Should be solid, remember to bring my bag with you."

"Ahh, of course, my darling. Thank you for reminding me."

Finally on dry land again, he outstretched a hand to her. "Patrick William Kennard. How may I help you?"

She shook it. "Felicity Alice Gordon. I'm actually looking for a job. I'm at uni here at the moment and I have lots of experience with bo-"

"Say no more! I owe you a debt of gratitude."

She chuckled. "Playing the swashbuckling hero again?"

Looking sheepish, he smiled. "Just a little. But of course I would be overjoyed to offer you a job here."

* * *

**Ohh, I love Patrick.**


	29. Trust Me LJ: Patrick K, Jenny S, Gibbs

**Disclaimer: Boooored of these.**

**A/N: And here endeth a long (or so it feels) Time Series hiatius. My apologies, there is more ATC to come and hopefully TO very very soon.**

**A/N2: The second part of meeting Patrick - and Jenny appears for the first and last (I expect) time in the Time Series. :P Because Patrick knows her too. Duh. Patrick knows everyone.**

* * *

Gibbs eyed the boat critically, before announcing that it would do. His manner didn't seem to affect the salesman.

"Won-der-ful!" the man exclaimed. "I _am _glad, I owe dearest Tommy a favour."

It was all Jenny could do not to snort, and she nearly choked on her coffee. "Director Morrow, you mean?"

The man looked contemplative. "Well, I suppose you must call him that," he said, "but he'll always be Tommy to me. And you, my darling, are?"

"Jenny Shepherd," she said, extending a hand. She jerked her head toward her companion. "And this is Gibbs. You'll be Mr. Kennard?"

"Patrick William Kennard, yes," he said, and Jenny got the impression that he was rather fond of his name. "But please, do call me Patrick, or any deviation thereof, some of my workers appear to prefer 'Pat', I can't say it troubles me at all."

"It's really good of you to help us out like this, Patrick," she said genuinely, and elbowed Gibbs.

"Thanks," he grunted.

"Oh no problem, absolutely no problem at all…" he tapered off, still looking at Gibbs. "You know, you have the most incredibly blue eyes."

This time Jenny really did splutter, and was unable to control her hysterics.

Gibbs looked at Patrick in the same way he'd examined the boat and said lightly, "Not my type."

Patrick put great effort into his pained expression. "I guess I shall just have to learn to live with my sorrow, and be happy for the lovely Miss Shepherd."

Unsure how to respond the hidden – and correct – accusation, Jenny just said, "Agent."

"Yes, yes, my dear, I know, but it didn't fit with the tone of the sentence quite so well, my apologies, do forgive me."

It was impossible not to like him. They arranged for Patrick to take them across to France the next day – they couldn't travel officially yet, as they were picking up the fake IDs in Calais.

-----

Jenny was freaking out. Ducky had pushed the police officer and then everything had gotten out of hand. Now he and Jethro were in police custody, and she couldn't contact Morrow and she had no idea what to do other than she had to help them escape. With this basic principle in mind, she calmed down a little. If they broke out of custody they'd need to get out of the country too. Since it seemed the easier section of the plan, she chose to focus on that. Within five minutes, she'd done a U-turn wand was heading toward Calais and the Kennard Shipyard there.

"My dear girl, I simply cannot give you a boat to escape illegally from France."

She'd worried that this would be his response, but hadn't thought of the sparkle in his eye.

"What?" she asked warily.

"Your companion… Gibbs – you wouldn't happen to know his first name?"

Whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't that. "Jethro," she said automatically. "Leroy Jethro, actually."

"Leroy Jethro…" Patrick mulled. "Well, if you'll excuse me a second, Jenny," and he slipped into a back room.

On the desk in front of her was a brass key labelled 156.

-----

Patrick, despite his promise to himself that he would "stay out of it" was waiting for them at his England shipyard. It was a good thing, he thought, that Jenny had come to him when she did – an hour later and he would have been leaving for England himself. Then again, she probably would have commandeered the vessel without asking, as he had very little doubt she would have done had he said no. He winced at the thought of having a theft. Patrick cared very deeply for his boats.

As soon as they pulled in against the backdrop of the rising sun, which he took a second to muse was a particularly romantic scene, he rushed out with three towels that he'd been warming on the radiator. Ducky, Jenny and Gibbs had never been more relieved to reach dry land. The three tired and sodden travellers gratefully accepted the towels and followed him into his office, where he had made a jug of hot chocolate.

At Gibbs' cynical expression he took great pleasure in saying, "Trust me, LJ, you'll enjoy it."

"LJ?" Gibbs repeated incredulously, but accepted a mug.

Jenny sheepishly became very interested in a painting on the wall. When shelooked round again she was shocked to find Gibbs' displaying gratitude.

"I owe you one, Rick."

She blinked rapidly, convinced she was hallucinating. Rick? So Gibbs _had _been listening at the introductions.

-----

In the future years Jenny would often express amazement that Gibbs and Patrick had kept in touch. It was nice to know he could have friends like a normal person. Patrick had been devastated at their split and later far more so at her death, being one of the few people who knew the truth. But he also knew, as all sensible people would (or so he maintained), that she wouldn't want him to stay alone, and when he looked at Gibbs and Felicity, he couldn't help but think that Jenny would approve. He was rather proud of that particular match.

* * *

***laughs at thought of Jenny and Felicity meeting* Gibbs might die. **


	30. Neptune: Lucas L and Neptune

**Disclaimer: YouGottaSingAlong owns it. All of this chapter, other than I wrote it. But she owns it. Idea, characters... yeah.**

**A/N: A drabble then, since I promised a long long time ago (see Time Flies) that in ATC I'd include a bit about what happened to Neptune in the end.**

* * *

He'd already booked his place on an animal transportation ship, having talked to some old friends about it, and applied for some of his leave. It had been hard enough leaving Neptune for her recovery and then in quarantine, and he was damned if he'd let her do the journey alone.

"Hey girl," he murmured as she nuzzled his hand. "How've you been, huh?"

She snuffled sugar out of his palm and stared at him with massive brown eyes.

"Well, you know, the usual," he told her. "Worked, irritated Tash, came to terms with Ziva being alive, got yelled at by the Deputy Director a few times…"

The man watching laughed. "Yeah, yeah. You missed her. We get it. Coming to eat now, Skywalker?"

Reluctantly he said goodbye to Neptune and thought of the stable he'd found outside DC for her. He'd come down tomorrow and tell her all about it.

* * *

***stares with normal sized brown eyes***


	31. First Day: Lucas L, M A Torres

**This is set actually sometime during the timeline of TO, but we're not there yet. You'll get it when we are.**

* * *

Marco Alonzo Torres stepped into the elevator, smiling and nodding in acknowledgement of the two people already there. The floor of the main bullpen was already selected, so he stood in silence and waited to reach it. One of them got off and then the other and Torres parted in silence on their floor. Torres could feel nerves twisting in the pit of his stomach – he wanted to make a good impression, but knew that was near to impossible.

-----

Lucas' morning routine felt oddly unfamiliar, his usual ease replaced by awkwardness and discomfort. Although he rode the NCIS elevator every day – and frequently with the same people – he felt today as though everyone was staring at him, and they probably were, though he knew Tash would say it was paranoia. He tapped his fingers against his leg as an outlet for the tension until the elevator reached the bullpen.

-----

Torres twisted the silver band on his left ring finger. It was a nervous twitch he'd had for years. A Marine since he'd left school, _technically _he'd been in many more terrifying scenarios, but he found it hard to be reassured by this, or to think of any. After all, since he'd joined up he'd never had another first day.

-----

Lucas slowed down once he'd stepped out, not really wanting to reach his desk or to start work. For the first time pretty much ever, he found himself hoping they _didn't _have a case, an easy day and going home at five would suit him just fine.

-----

Eventually both men stood in the middle of their separate bullpens, continents apart and equally nervous for their different types of first day.

* * *

**I know it's not long or anything, but this is actually the final chapter of Against The Clock. *chokes back a sob* ((Although, if FliBbeRGibbIt ever gives me that wonderful Patrick chapter she started, then I'll cheat and put it in)). I've grown really attached to this fic, it's great fun, I love the characters. Once I've finished Time Out, I plan to start a fic called From Time To Time, which will be the new ATC, so to speak. I want to thank everyone who's sticking with the Time Series (god you must be patient) and especially YouGottaSingAlong, my cowriter. Also Tiva4evaxxx, FadeIntoTheBackground, skycloud86 and FliBbeRGibbIt. To journalofcrime, I hope to speak soon, and for CatAmongPidgeons, who I know would leave awesome reviews if she could. I'm all emotional now. Ending fics is a very strange business. **


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